


Broken

by realmsoffreedom



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 34,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smile is easy to fake, a laugh is easy to force. I've been cutting myself for a couple years now, and they've never suspected a thing. They never will. Not until they find my body, lying in a pool of my own blood. But then it'll be too late. I'll already be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a few days now, and it just wouldn't leave me alone. And- who is it? What do you guys think? I'm writing the second chapter- don't know when it'll be out, but it should be soon. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.

Three am.

 

It’s not a time most are awake- minds alert, fully conscious. It isn’t unusual to be half-asleep at three am- just having gotten to bed, after a night out with friends. Shit-faced drunk off your ass, knowing you’ll be dreadfully hungover the next time you see daylight- which typically equates to noon. Sleepovers are usually at their peak- around three in the morning. Little school girls gossiping until dusk becomes dawn- getting absolutely no sleep. Maybe that’s why Lauren is always in a terrible mood after getting home from one of her friends’ sleepovers.

 

But three am is distinctly different- at least in my eyes. Three am is staying up and knowing you’re all alone. Scrolling through the depressive tag on Tumblr- with a distinct emptiness etched on my face- one that can only be reserved for the dead. Assuming a pasty colour to my cheeks- looking more like a ghost than anything. Losing absolutely all the masks that are in place during the day. That is me. A sight foreign to my brothers- my complexion resembling one of a corpse. And I guess I _am_ dead. Dead on the inside, that is. I just feel like purely a skeleton- lacking all feeling and/or emotion.

 

Three am is the only time I can slice into my wrist- and know for sure that no one will catch me in the act. It’s my safe haven, almost. The time that I have in solitude- with no one to smother me. Don’t get me wrong, my brothers are my life, but the constant contact worries me so much- because they might find my scars, and that would be horrible. My brothers are all asleep at three am- the video game consoles are powered off, amps are unplugged, and all our food is tucked safely in the pantry and the fridge. That’s how I’m positive that I am alone.

 

The only light in the entire house is coming from the laptop- a dim glow that illuminates my face. I type furiously, scrolling down my Twitter feed at a rapid rate. My DM’s are through the roof- and I’m trying to answer as many as I can. These girls (and guys) need me, and I want to be there for them. However- I never seem to actually get to all of them- leaving me absolutely disappointed and disgusted in myself. They need me, and I can’t even try to help? Pathetic.

 

I don’t seem like the kind of person to be affected by a negative comment. I’m probably the happiest in the band. But my loud personality hides away all the insecurities I have- and trust me, there are a lot. A lot of times where I have absolutely no confidence in myself- when I look in the mirror, and nausea fills my stomach- at what I see. My self-esteem is shot- I’m highly aware of how low my self-confidence is. But that’s the result of endless and relentless hate. A person can only handle so much- before it infiltrates the cracks its created, and destroys them inside.

 

I have a lot of reasons to hate myself- I wonder exactly why I was put on Earth to begin with. All people have done is ridicule me- laugh at me- and it makes me wonder- what I’ve done to deserve to be treated that way. I’m only human- and I have feelings too- they aren’t stripped away because I’m famous- but goddamn, I wish they were. When I ask why I get the hate- I get a shitton of answers, but none of them satisfy me. Honestly- these people have no idea what I’m going through- and can’t pinpoint the exact reason I deserve to be torn apart.

 

Why do people hate me? It’s a question with no answer- but it’ll always be in my mind- just, why? What did I do to deserve this? I’m a good person- at least that’s what I think of myself. I’m not a criminal- I haven’t cursed anyone out- I’ve never stolen from anyone. In my eyes, I’m nothing but good. but the haters always find something to pick on- some aspect of me to scrutinize- like I’m a museum exhibit, and everyone’s staring and pointing out everything they don’t like.

 

The only thing I’ve done that’s bad- that’s detrimental to my health- is self-harm. I was a cutter for a couple of years, but eventually- I stopped- and I stopped for you guys, my fans. And this is the thanks I get- these are the repercussions. I’m not cutting because I don’t want to set a bad example. Trust me- I long for a blade more than anything- but I stopped because I didn’t want my girls to think that cutting is okay. It’s not. Not in any way, shape, or form. I don’t promote it- but I’m not sorry for doing that to myself.

 

It may not be the most ethical way to go about my problems- but it used to be the only thing that got me through. It’s gone now- an I feel the longing for it- the withdrawal that has created a hole in my heart, leaving me at the hands of the pain that life is. In all honesty- life hasn’t done me any favors, so why should I give it a good reputation? It’s been absolute _shit_ for me. Everyone’s a critic, and I’m just done being snowballed and attacked for every single thing I do. It’s painful.

 

I guess I’m going to be okay. I mean, I have put up with this for so long- managed to hold on for longer than I ever thought possible. So, I guess I can do anything. I’ll never actually be over the incessant hate, but I can deal with it. There are better ways of coping0 but right now- relapse is the only one that comes to my mind. And eventually, I’ll just get fed up with absolutely everything- that’ll be when I snap. And then- maybe then- people will know how badly words can hurt a person. So, you’ve managed to get to me. I hope you’re happy with yourselves. I hope breaking me was worth it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive response last chapter- you guys are awesome. Thanks for reading- I'll have the next chapter up soon.

“Luke, get your ass outta the shower, we’re gonna be late!”

 

I shove a piece of vegemite-covered toast into my mouth, chewing quickly, as Michael shouts for Luke again. Calum runs a hand through his short hair, before joining me at the table. He reaches over and rips off a piece of bread- leaving me annoyed.

 

“Cal, get your own,” I grumble. Calum shrugs, grabbing another piece of bread, and lathering it in vegemite. He doesn’t bother toasting it- instead folds it in half and shoves it into his mouth.

 

“Finally, Luke,” Michael says, pressing a button on his PSP. “I was about to send Cal up there to _drag_ you out of that shower.”

 

Luke snorts. “Like you’re ready to walk out the door. You’re playing video games- and I doubt you’ve eaten breakfast yet, so fuck off.”

 

I swallow the last of my breakfast, rising from my chair. Luke shoots me a grateful glance, dropping into my seat- so he can sit next to Calum. He wraps his arm around Calum’s shoulders, and the older boy leans into him.

 

I smile ruefully. Luke and Calum have an extremely close relationship- they joke about having sex with each other, making out, etc- that’s how close those two really are. I know that Mashton kinda mirrors that, but I’ve always wanted to be close to Luke. It seems like he understands me, just a bit more than Mikey.

 

“You okay, Ash?” Michael is looking at me, his face holding a hint of concern. “I saw the trends last night, y’know.”

 

“Fine,” I choke out, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t look fine.” Luke cuts into the conversation, and when I glance at him- he’s looking at me with concerned eyes- Calum following suit. “You’ve been quiet.”

 

“I’m just tired,” I insist. “Really, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. What time do we have to be at the studio?”

 

“Ten,” Luke says slowly. “We’re leaving in 20 minutes.”

 

“I’ll be ready,” I reply, running up the stairs, and into the bedroom I share with Michael. Luke and Calum insisted on sharing, so Mikey and I are roommates. Not that I mind it- I’m closest to him.

 

“Ash?”

 

Michael stands in the doorway, his hands in his pockets- staring at me. I glance over at him, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Are you _really_ okay? It’s okay if you’re not- that trend is absolutely disgusting, and god, I wish we would’ve seen it before you. We could’ve banned you from going on Twitter or something…you didn’t need to see that…”

 

“I’m fine,” I reply softly, looking into his eyes. “Really Mikey, I’m okay, I promise.”

 

Michael shakes his head slightly, crossing the room in a couple of strides. He wraps his arms around my neck, and I hug back, as he buries his face in my shoulder. “I love you, Ash. Promise me you’ll tell me if you don’t feel okay? I want to help. I don’t have to tell Lukey or Cal- not if you don’t want me to.”

 

I pull away from him. “I’ll tell you.”

 

He tilts his head. “Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

But what he doesn’t know, is that one of my hands is behind my back- and I’m crossing my fingers.

 

…

 

“We finally have a break?”

 

“Well, Cal’s finishing up recording his last parts, and then we’ve got an hour to ourselves,” Luke replies, flopping onto the couch next to me. He pulls his phone out and leans his head on my shoulder, making me tense.

 

I don’t know what’s been going on…but I guess I’ve kinda had this weird feeling around Luke nowadays. I don’t know what it is, but when he’s in the room, I guess I’m a little bit happier- my problems don’t disappear, but the burden they’re putting on me lessens slightly.

 

“I’m going on my ask, gonna answer some fans,” Michael announces.

 

“Don’t let anyone catch you,” Luke warns. “You know we’re not supposed to have them.”

 

“But they help us to help so many fans,” Michael replies. “Like, I just got a message from a fan saying that we helping her stop cutting, and if I said I loved her, she’d be so happy…that’s the effect we have on people, and god, it feels amazing.”

 

At the mention of cutting, I stiffen, glancing at my sleeves to make sure they’re pulled down all the way, I don’t want Luke to suspect anything, so I try to keep my movements miniscule, relaxing into the cushions of the couch, as the door to the recording booth creaks open. Calum slips out, walking toward us.

 

He sits down next to Luke, and the blonde immediately removes his head from my shoulder, to place it on Calum’s, nuzzling into his side. A twinge of pain shoots through me- it feels like Luke appreciates Calum more than me. I know he loves me, but…his relationship with Cal…it just…

 

“Only 17 days until our album is released,” Calum comments. He taps something on his phone, before glancing up. “It seems so close.”

 

“It _is_ ,” Michael agrees. “Less than three weeks. Our girls are gonna explode when they hear it.”

 

“I think we really did a good job,” Luke murmurs. “The songs are good. And Ash, you drumming is absolutely amazing.”

 

Embarrassed, I duck my head. “Thanks…”

 

“Don’t be so modest!” Michael calls from the floor. “You’re the _only_ one playing drums. Like, if I fucked up a part, Luke would be there to help me out. Cal, you play bass on your own, and Ash, you’re the only drummer.”

 

We all fall silent after that, and I glance down at the screen of my phone. Scrolling through Twitter, I read through what’s trending.

 

#ashtonweloveyou

 

My eyes darken slightly. They’re wasting their time. There’s no use in defending someone like me- I’m just a fuck up. I deserve that other trend. What was it? Oh, yeah. #KeepCuttingAshtonYoureTrash. I _am_ trash, and I’m just doing what they say. I’m still cutting myself- but even if that hadn’t trended- I’d still be hurting myself, because I just deserve the pain.

 

…

 

“I’m going down to the gym,” I announce, shoving my earbuds into my ears. We have a kinda home gym in our house. It’s not fully furnished- there’s a treadmill, some weights, a stationary bike and a bench press- but that’s more than enough for us. I mostly use the weighs and the treadmill- I kinda like running.

 

“I’m coming,” Luke offers, grabbing his headphones, and walking over to me.

 

My eyes widen slightly. I’m basically going down there to get _away_ from Luke. My thoughts are always about him- and I concluded that not seeing him would ward away those thoughts, but…

 

Making no move to acknowledge him, I lead the way into the basement, and downstairs. I immediately hop on the treadmill when we get there, powering it on, and setting my phone down, making sure my music is turned up- high enough so I won’t hear Luke’s voice. If I can just zone out…I can pretend he’s not there.

 

“Ash?”

 

I hear a faint call of my name, and sigh heavily. Making no move to stop running, I pull out one earbud and look at Luke. “What is it?”

 

He looks down, eyes darkened slightly. “Are you mad at me? You don’t seem to want to talk…and it seems like you’re ignoring me…did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, Luke…” I sigh. “It’s not you. I’m just really tired and stressed, kinda feel like crap mentally. I just wanted to come down here and run out my frustration. It has nothing to do with you, promise.”

 

His eyes widen, and he stares at me. “What do you mean, you feel like crap mentally? Are you…are you getting bad again…?” He says the last part quietly- his voice a ghost of a tone.

 

They know about my self-harm. I mean, our girls know about it, so it’s inevitable that my brothers know. They know how bad I got, how depressed and suicidal was- and they _think_ I’ve stopped cutting. They think I stopped over two years ago- and it’s true, I did stop, but only for a short period of time. Withdrawal was too strong. I couldn’t help but relapse.

 

“I’m not, Lukey,” I say, lying easily. “I’d tell you if I was, you know that.”

 

“Do I?” Luke counters. “You’ve been really quiet and secretive these past few days. We’re _worried_ , Ash. Mikey said he’d talk to you, because he’s closest to you, and he’s most likely to get an answer, but you clammed up. What’s going on?”

 

“I didn’t tell him anything, because there is _nothing_ to tell,” I say tightly. “I’m fine.”

 

Luke snorts. “I don’t think _anyone_ would be fine, after seeing what’s been trending worldwide, lately. We all know that you’re trying to stay strong for us, but we can see through everything. You gotta let us in- we can’t help you, otherwise. We love you, Ash. None of us want to see you suffer.”

 

I glare at him. “I _am_ fine. I stopped cutting, I stopped being depressed, my suicidal thoughts went away, what more do you want from me?! As long as I’m not hurting myself, what does it matter?”

 

“Hurting yourself emotionally is just as bad as hurting yourself physically.”

 

“You have _no_ idea, Luke,” I mutter, powering off the treadmill, and stepping off it. I storm out of the room, All Time Low blaring softly in my ears. But I’m in no mood to listen to them right now. Luke just managed to piss me off in every way possible. I’m fine- and he just doesn’t understand that. Maybe, if he- all three of them- stopped fucking _smothering_ me, I’d have some breathing room, and I’d be in a better mental state.

 

“ASHTON!”

 

Luke’s thundering footsteps invade my ears, but I make no move to slow down- I have nothing to say to him. Not now, at least.

 

A crash is heard, and I hear a bunch of loud thumps, and my eyes go wide. “Luke…?”

 

Luke’s response is a cry of pain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one thing to note. I don't put who's POV it is- if I swtch POVs. I feel that it disrupts the flow of the story- so instead, I make sure to include a blatantly obvious detail, telling you who's POV it's in. For example, if it's in Michel's POV, I'll mention the names Calum, Luke, and Ashton, so you'll obviously know Mikey is narrating. Anyway, enjoy. And try not to hate me too much at the end.

“Fuck,” I curse, rushing back down the steps. My eyes widen, as I slid to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. “Luke…”

 

He’s crumpled in a heap, his body shaking slightly. At the sound of my voice, he lifts his head, raising his body into a sitting position. His right arm is cradled to his chest, and I can see obvious pain on his face. When he looks at me- it’s through pained eyes, evident discomfort on his features.

 

“We heard a loud noise- what…Lukey…what happened?” Calum says in a rush, as he and Michael join me. We stand in front of Luke, looking at him worriedly, and painful guilt seeps into my stomach.

 

“Holy shit, is he okay?” Michael asks frantically, his face paling at the sight of our youngest brother. Luke’s complexion has paled to a pasty white, and he’s looking down at his swollen arm blankly, wheezing a bit.

 

“He was chasing after me…and he tripped…” I mutter, stepping down the last stair. I kneel beside Luke, looking him over. “Is it just your arm that hurts, Lukey?”

 

He nods. “I think…think it might be broken…”

 

Calum descends down to Luke’s level as well, cupping his face in his hands, and kissing Luke’s forehead. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you to the hospital, and they’ll fix your arm right up. Come on, I’ll take you.”

 

He helps Luke to his feet, and wraps an arm around the youngest boy’s shaking shoulders, glaring at me.

 

“I’ll come with you guys,” I offer, pulling out my earbuds and putting them into my pocket.

 

Calum shakes his head. “I think you’ve done enough.” Luke whimpers against him, and he sighs. “Come on, baby, let’s get you to the hospital.”

 

…

 

“I don’t…I didn’t know he’d fall…”

 

Ashton leans into my chest, sniffling a bit. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot- face red and streaked with tears. “Calum probably hates me…”

 

“Hey,” I say sternly, forcing him to look me in the eye. “Calum does _not_ hate you. You’re his brother- he loves you.”

 

“Then Luke does,” Ashton mutters. “I broke his arm, for god’s sake! He can’t play guitar…” Ashton freezes in my arms, eyes going wide. “Oh shit…what about our girls? They’re gonna hate me…I injured their precious love…”

 

“You injured _no one_ ,” I reply. “Luke _tripped_. You didn’t push him down. It is _not_ your fault.”

 

“He wouldn’t have tripped, if he wasn’t running after me. God, why did I have to get angry at him? This entire thing could’ve been avoided, if I didn’t let my emotions get the best of me. I should’ve kept them in- like I always do…”

 

“Ashton,” I whisper. “What are you hiding from me?”

 

“Nothing,” he says hoarsely. “It’s fine- forget I said anything. It’s not important, I promise.”

 

The front door opens, blowing a rush of air into the house- and Calum leads Luke into the house. His arm is still wrapped around the youngest boy’s shoulders like a protective shield, and he doesn’t acknowledge us- as he leads Luke to the other couch.

 

Luke’s right arm is wrapped in a light blue cast- covering his entire forearm, his fingers poking out of the end. They’re swollen- I can see the redness, and judging by the obvious discomfort etched on Luke’s face, he’s still in a lot of pain. He’s got his arm held to his chest in a sling, which goes around his neck and back, looking pretty uncomfortable.

 

“It was a clean break. They set it, and he should get the cast off in eight weeks,” Calum mutters. “He can’t play guitar for at least two and a half months, thanks to you, Ashton.”

 

Ashton tenses in my arms, closing his eyes briefly. “I know…I’m so sorry, Lukey…I didn’t mean to…”

 

Luke shakes your head. “Calum’s just being an overprotective dick. It’s not your fault- I tripped, and you were no where _near_ me.” He sighs. “This is my fault, so Cal, please leave Ash alone. He didn’t do anything.”

 

Calum looks down, refusing to say anything. “Can I get you anything?”

 

“You can go tell our girls what’s up,” Luke orders. “You tweeted that we were at the hospital, and Twitter’s blowing up. Go calm them down. I’m fine.”

 

“But-”

 

Luke gives him a look, and Calum sighs, nodding. He shoots Ashton another glare, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and slumping down on the couch next to Luke.

 

“And you, Ash,” Luke continues. “Can get your ass over here and give me a hug. You didn’t do anything wrong- stop blaming yourself. You look a wreck, and it’s breaking my heart.”

 

Ashton shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt you even more.”

 

“Ash-”

 

But Ashton has already stood up and left the room.

 

…

 

“He’s really not okay…” Michael whispers, sighing heavily. “He looks so broken…”

 

“It’s not fair,” I agree. “That trend was just…I can’t even describe my disgust…he really didn’t need to see that.”

 

“He broke your arm,” Calum interrupts bitterly.

 

“No, he didn’t,” I snap. “And you need to stop fucking blaming him for it. I _tripped_ , Calum. I fucking tripped over my own feet, and _that’s_ why my arm’s broken. Ashton had _nothing_ to do with it, and goddammit, can’t you see how broken he is? And all you’re doing is making it worse. He needs to know he’s loved- not have another reason to hate himself.”

 

Calum sighs. “I just hate seeing you hurt, Lukey…I love you…”

 

“I love you too,” I reply. “But it’s not his fault. I got hurt, because I’m a clumsy fuck, not because he pushed me. It’s my own fault- that I can’t play guitar for at least ten weeks. He doesn’t deserve to be blamed like this, Cal, he really fucking doesn’t. He doesn’t need that right now.”

 

“Calum,” Michael whispers. “What the _fuck_ did you _do_?!”

 

My attention is snatched in seconds. Michael’s staring at his phone, his eyes wide. His eyes darken, as he continues to read what’s on the screen. “What?”

 

“He tweeted…he tweeted that Ash broke your arm.”

 

“He did _what_?!”

 

…

 

“Ashton?”

 

“Go away, please, I want to be left alone,” I whisper, hearing Luke’s voice through the door.

 

“Ash, please…Cal said he’s sorry…please, baby, don’t go on Twitter.”

 

A spark ignites in me. Don’t go on Twitter? Why not? What’s on there that they don’t want me to see? By Luke saying that, it just makes me want to go on Twitter even more- which is obvious given the circumstances.

 

“Ashton, I mean it, I can tell you’re on your phone right now.”

 

“Please leave me alone,” I reply softly. “I can’t handle this right now.”

 

I hear Luke sigh. “Fine. But please, come to us if you feel like you’re going to break. We’re here for you.”

 

And then his retreating footsteps invade my ears, so I sigh, and open my Twitter app, going immediately to my mentions.

 

They’re absolutely blowing up. But one tweet in particular catches my eye.

 

_@Calum5SOS: Aww, Ash managed to break poor Lukey’s arm :(_

 

And he posted a picture of Luke- and the picture manages to make Luke look absolutely miserable. His face is pale, eyes weary, fingers swollen, head hanging- he just looks like a mess.

 

That tweet has bee retweeted over 26,000 times, with like, 34,000 favorites. And my mentions are blowing up with hate. People are absolutely pissed at me for hurting Luke- and I can’t say I blame them. But the things they’re tweeting to me are so horrendous, and just make me want to press a blade to my skin, and split the skin down my forearm- a single motion that will surely kill me. That’s what they want, anyway.

 

_@Ashton5SOS: Dumbass! Luke’s the most important member of 5sos, and now he can’t play his guitar. You probably did it on purpose._

_@Ashton5SOS: No one needs you. Kill your pathetic self. #KeepCuttingAshtonYoureTrash_

_@Ashton5SOS: Luke probably hates you now, and I don’t blame him. He loves the guitar, thanks for taking it away from him._

Tears blur my vision, as I read through the rest of the tweets. They all mirror those, spouting hate and detrimental comments at me, like waves of loathing washing over my body. My vision is too distorted to see clearly, and all I can do is drop my phone onto the mattress, wiping at my eyes furiously.

 

When I can see again, I pull open the drawer of my nightstand, eyes searching for a single thing. When I finally see it, relief floods through me. I lift the object out, and turn it over in my hands, admiring the shiny, gleaming surface.

 

The blade is pressed to my skin in a matter of seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's short, but I needed to end it at a certain point for things to flow properly. Thank you guys for the kudos/comments, they're lovely.

“Oh, fuck…this is awful…”

 

I stare at my phone, scrolling through endless messages of hate directed at Ashton. They’re telling him to go die, to start cutting again- the works. All because they blame him for breaking my arm. That’s just…it isn’t right at all. He doesn’t deserve that- and I know for a _fact_ he’s seen the hate.

 

“Goddammit, Calum,” Michael mutters. “Was this _really_ necessary?”

 

Calum sighs heavily. “I had no idea they’d do something like this…I thought they’d write it off as an accident, because that’s all it really was…”

 

“That’s not what you were saying a couple minutes ago,” I reply. “And considering what trended a couple weeks ago, I’m not surprised at this reaction. He’s already falling apart, and you just made everything so much worse for him.”

 

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Calum exclaims. “I fucked up!”

 

“Damn right,” Michael says bitterly. “And you can’t fix it.”

 

…

 

“Morning, Ash.”

 

I walk into the living room- where I’m greeted by my brothers, all sitting on the couch, tapping on their phones.

 

“Morning,” I reply, slumping down next to Michael. I press myself into his side, resting my head on his shoulder for a few brief seconds. He kisses the top of my head, and I sigh.

 

“You okay?” Michael asks gently.

 

“M’fine,” I lie. “Tired, but fine. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

 

“You should’ve come to me,” Michael chides. “I was sleeping three feet away. We could’ve cuddled- you would’ve slept much better in my arms.”

 

“You could’ve come to me, too, Ash. Our bedroom’s always open,” Luke offers. “I didn’t sleep much either- we could’ve talked a bit.”

 

“What, Calum didn’t spoon you?” I mutter bitterly, not even noticing the edge to my voice.

 

“No, actually, Mike and I are pissed at him. So no, he and I didn’t cuddle last night.”

 

“I’m sitting right _here_ ,” Calum grumbles, glaring at Luke.

 

Luke snorts. “I’m still pissed at you. You had no right to tweet something like that.”

 

“You don’t have to be mad at him for telling the truth,” I whisper, hiding my face in Michael’s shoulder. “I deserved all those tweets.”

 

“No you didn’t, Ashton. You don’t deserve to even _say_ that about yourself,” Calum cuts in, his eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry for tweeting that, I thought our girls would write it off as an accident. Like, you and Luke were wrestling or something.”

 

“But we weren’t,” I mutter, my tone clipped. “He was chasing after me, because I said something that worried him.”

 

“Which reminds me,” Luke says. “I never got an answer.”

 

“You don’t want to know,” I warn. “None of you do. I’m fucked up. Fucking up in a shitload of different ways. There’s so much baggage that comes with being close to me, guys, and I don’t want you to have to deal with any of it.”

 

…

 

“Alright, Mikey, you’re gonna help me shower,” Luke announces, rising to his feet. “And Calum, you and Ash are going to talk this out. We’re not fighting for any longer- we need to give Ash as much love as possible right now- and you two need to fix Cashton.”

 

Calum opens his mouth to protest, but Luke glares at him. “No ifs, ands, or buts. Talk to him. You fucked up. At least _try_ to fix it.”

 

“I’m wondering why I need to help you _shower_ ,” Michael mumbles.

 

“Because my cast can’t get wet. Nor can I move my arm. So, go put on your swim trunks, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

“You take forever to shower,” Michael grumbles, as he walks out of the room.

 

“Now, you two, talk,” Luke repeats. He glances at Calum, giving him a look, before turning and following Michael out of the room.

 

I sit silently, my arms crossed over my chest, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts are racing, and I’m itching for a blade. I need some kind of relief- my arm is literally physically itching right now- just because I’m so addicted to a razor. 

 

“Ash?”

 

“Don’t bother,” I mutter. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ll tell Luke we’re good, don’t worry about it.”

 

“No,” Calum replies. “Luke’s right. I did fuck up, and you deserve an apology. I could delete that tweet, but the damage has already been done. I’m so fucking sorry, Ash. I had no idea how broken you really were, and it’s my fault that you’re being hurt so much.”

 

“It isn’t,” I sigh. “You didn’t _tell_ them to tweet that shit.”

 

“But I was the catalyst. I started it.” Calum looks me in the eye, his chocolate gaze dark with regret. “And god, I’m sorry. We’re worried, Ash. You have no idea how worried you’re making us. You look so bad, and even though you say you’re fine- your eyes tell us a different story.”

 

His words ricochet off me like a boomerang- I pay no attention to what he’s said, suddenly becoming very interested in my fingers. Drumming them against my thigh, I sit in silence, longing for a blade.

 

“Ashton?”

 

“I’m not in the mood,” I growl. “Please, just go the fuck away and leave me alone. You apologized, it’s all good. Please get out of my sight.”

 

“Why, so you can cut again?”

 

A cold sweat breaks out over me, as I stare at him, my blood running frigid. “How did you know?”

 

“You should do a better job of cleaning up the bathroom, if you want to hide it.”

 

“Calum, I…”

 

Calum shakes his head. “Don’t bother, Ash. I’m not going to tell Mikey or Luke, as long as you promise you’ll _try_ to stop. You need to promise me that, at least. I know it’s bad- I’ve seen the blood. Wanna show me how bad it really is?”

 

“No,” I hiss, keeping my arms firmly at my sides. “You’ll go straight to Luke and Michael. And they’ll smother me, and I won’t even get a chance to _breathe_.”

 

“Ashton,” Calum says. “I’ve known for about two weeks, and I haven’t breathed a _word_ to either of them. If I was going to tell, don’t you think I would’ve _done_ it by now?”

 

“It’s bad,” I confess, my resolve beginning to crumble. “ _I’m_ bad. I’m getting bad again, Cal, and it just hurts, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I hate hiding it. I hate pretending I’m okay. I hate this fucking life.”

 

“Oh, Ash…”

 

Calum sighs heavily, reaching over to pull me to his chest. I bury my face in his shirt, letting out a series of slow, shuddering breaths, wheezing.

 

“Ashton,” Calum says gently. “I need you to calm down. You’re fine. I’m not going to tell- your secret is safe with me. Please, try to calm down. You’re okay.”

 

“I’m not,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m not okay.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took awhile, I didn't really know what to write. Anyway, thanks for the support, I hope you enjoy this.

“Don’t wake him.”

 

My tone holds a warning note, as Luke and Michael reenter the room. Ashton’s head is on my lap, as his chest rises and falls steadily. He’s still in the throes of sleep- and considering how little sleep he got last night- he needs to sleep.

 

“So you guys are good now?” Michael asks.

 

I nod. “Yeah. But I see what you guys were saying about how he isn’t okay. There’s definitely something wrong.”

 

Luke pulls at his sling a bit, trying to shift his arm into a more comfortable position. “Did he tell you anything?”

 

Confliction overcomes me. I want to tell them about Ashton’s relapse- show them his arms, everything, but I made a promise. Ashton would murder me in my sleep if I broke that promise, and he’s already been betrayed so many times- I don’t want to add another to the list. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt again, especially by me.

 

“No,” I reply, glancing at Luke. “He didn’t say much. I’m just gonna sit with him until he wakes up- don’t wanna move and disturb him.”

 

“If you really have to get up, replace your lap with a pillow,” Michael advises. He pulls a pair of earbuds from his pocket. “We should do a twitcam soon, guys. The girls haven’t really had a chance to interact with us in a while.” Whilst taking, he plugs the headphones into his phone, and puts one of the earbuds in.

 

“We will,” Luke promises. “We can tell them that the shit Calum tweeted is bull, and that they should stop sending Ash hate.”

 

As if on cue, Ashton’s phone beeps. He stirs in my lap, but I shake my head, rubbing his shoulder blades gently- trying to soothe him back into slumber. It’s barely been an hour since he fell asleep- he needs to sleep for longer.

 

“Get that, will you, Cal?” Luke asks.

 

I nod, reaching over his body to grab Ashton’s phone. The notification I see makes my heart clench.

 

_@Ashton5SOS Haven’t you gotten the message yet? No one wants you alive. #KeepCuttingAshtonYoureTrash_

“Holy fuck…” I mutter, rereading the tweet to make sure I haven’t read it wrong. “Guys, look…”

 

I hold out the phone to both Michael and Luke- and when they see the tweet, I can see rage pooling in their eyes.

 

“I swear to fucking god…he doesn’t deserve that shit…” Michael growls. “He really doesn’t need to read that bull.”

 

“This is bad, guys,” Luke sighs. “We have to do something. He’s already fragile; this is just going to break him. And it’s especially heart shattering because he’s always been so strong. He’s always been able to laugh off the hate, cuddle with one of us for a bit, and be okay. But now…this trend is breaking him. And if we don’t do something about it, I think he’s going to do something drastic.”

 

…

 

“Hey, Ash. Feeling better?”

 

I blink wearily, sitting up. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I sigh heavily. I’m groggy with sleep, still exhausted even though I must’ve taken a 3-hour nap.

 

“Timesit?” I mumble, leaning my head on Calum’s shoulder.

 

“Five,” Calum replies. “You slept for almost seven hours, Ash. Did you even _sleep_ last night?”

 

I was actually up all night reading hate and cutting myself, but he doesn’t need to know that. He thinks I was asleep, so that’s the story I’m going with. None of them have suspected anything yet- I’m in the clear for now, at least.

 

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just couldn’t sleep well. Thanks for letting me sleep on you.” I stretch, rising to my feet and yawning.

 

“Luke’s in our room, his arm’s swelling up and it’s kinda painful, so I told him to go lay down. And Mikey’s playing video games.”

 

I nod slightly. “Think I’m gonna go join Mike. What’ve you been up to?”

 

Calum shrugs. “Nothing much. Watched some TV. Mainly been listening to some music and replying to fans on Twitter.”

 

“Right,” I mutter. “I’m gonna go play some video games with Mikey.”

 

…

 

“You okay, Ash?”

 

He scoots down beside me, grabbing another controller. I’m playing the new Mario Kart- Mario Kart 8, and it’s actually pretty fun. But Ashton still looks pretty wrecked. Pale, exhausted, and just plain ragged. It’s scaring me- though he’s looked this way for a while. He hasn’t been his tan, bubbly, bright self in a long time, and goddamn, I miss that Ashton. That Ashton was the light in our lives. He knew how to make us happy and cheer us up, and he was always so full of life.

 

“M’good,” he mutters. “Add me in?”

 

“Yeah,” I reply, pressing a few buttons on my controller. “I just want you to be happy, Ash. We saw one of the tweets; your phone went off while you were sleeping. That’s absolutely disgusting, the bullshit they send you. You know it’s not true, right?”

 

Ashton sighs. “Can we please not talk about this?”

 

“No, Ashton. I need to hear you say that the hate isn’t true. That you don’t believe that crap.”

 

“So, you’re asking me to lie to you?”

 

…

 

“You guys ready for the show?”

 

We’re playing a couple shows in Sydney, and tonight’s the first one. I’m just worried about Luke- his arm has been pretty sore, and he definitely can’t play guitar. He only has one arm, and the cast _is_ pretty heavy.

 

“Luke, you want us to bring a stool out there? Your arm still looks really sore.”

 

Luke rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, guys. My arm doesn’t hurt as much- and I’m just singing. You all need to calm the hell down.”

 

“We just worry about you,” Calum mumbles, pressing himself into Luke’s side.

 

“And that’s lovely,” Luke replies. “But I’m a big boy- I can take care of myself.”

 

“Lukey,” I sigh.

 

“Boys! You’re on in less than a minute!”

 

Luke rises to his feet, glancing at Calum. “Grab me my sling?”

 

Calum nods, and helps him put it on, before rushing off to grab his bass. Michael joins us moments later, guitar slung around his neck.

 

“So, I talked to Josh, and Ash, if we need you to play guitar in a couple of songs, he said he could take over on the drums. I think I’ve got it covered- but if necessary, you can step in, right?”

 

I nod. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“We’re on,” Calum says, rushing back into the room. “Ash, keep an eye on Luke, yeah?”

 

Luke groans, and I nod again, as we all run onstage- keeping my hand on Luke’s back.

 

…

 

“So, my arm is going to be in a sling for a couple more weeks, but casted for another two months,” Luke says into the microphone. I wince at the amount of boos and hisses and hate directed toward me- glad that I have my drums to semi-cower behind.

 

“Hey now,” Michael mutters. “It isn’t Ash’s fault. Calum didn’t mean that Ashton broke his arm. Luke was chasing Ashton, and he tripped over his own feet. Ashton wasn’t even within eyeshot, so there’s really no reason to blame him and send hate.”

 

“That’s another thing we wanted to talk to you guys about,” Calum interrupts. My eyes widen. What the _hell_ is he doing?

 

“Ashton has been getting a lot of hate lately. And that hashtag? The one that trended worldwide? Yeah, he saw it. All of us did. And guess what? It fucking _disgusted_ us. And I know we’re usually not serious at shows, but we felt this was necessary. Ashton doesn’t deserve this guys, you know he doesn’t. He’s been through a lot- yet he still manages to pull himself together for you guys- to grin and bear it. He grins and bears so much, he gets so much crap from the haters, yet he manages to put on a smile and shake it all off. But you guys don’t know how he is at home. He breaks, guys. And it’s really sad to see him cry. He doesn’t deserve to cry, not from cruel words that aren’t even true. I know he’s saved a lot of you out in the audience. So, if you’ve ever sent him hate, I want you to rethink it. If you know someone that has sent him hate, I want you to tell them to rethink it. Because he’s done nothing wrong, and quite damn honestly, it’s heartbreaking to see our brother broken because of some idiot’s cruel words said from behind a computer screen.”


	6. Chapter 6

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!”

 

I’m screaming, rage filling me and overtaking my body. They had _no_ fucking right to embarrass me like that. Not in front of our girls, not in front of all the press at the event, they had no fucking _right_. Do they really think I want people to know I’ve _cried_ over hate?

 

“They needed to know what their bullshit was doing to you,” Michael mutters. “We hate seeing you so upset.”

 

“We did this for you, Ash,” Luke says gently. “It had to be done.”

 

My eyes widen. “You guys just _humiliated_ me in front of an entire _arena_ , for god’s sakes! Did you really think I wanted them to know that I’ve cried over hate?! That I’ve let it get to me?! That was _private_!”

 

“We’re all family, Ash,” Calum replies. “We consider our fans family, so why is it such a bad thing that they know?”

 

“Because I’m what keeps a lot of them strong. _I’m_ their only reason. And I don’t know about you, but if I was them, I wouldn’t want to see _my_ rock fall apart.”

 

…

 

I curl further into the corner of the room I share with Michael, staring out the window. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I bite down on my lip to choke back a sob. Rushes of emotion overwhelm me, and I know that I need a good cry. But I can’t let them know. I have to break when none of them are home- I don’t want comfort.

 

I don’t want comfort and love and kind words and cuddles. I don’t want it, I don’t need it, and I sure as hell have done nothing to _deserve_ it.

 

“Ash?”

 

Michael steps into the room, but it doesn’t faze me. I just continue to stare out the window, tears dripping down my cheeks at a rapid rate.

 

“Ashton, are you crying?”

 

I stay silent, refusing to look at him. If I talk, I’ll break- and goddamn, I’m still pissed at him- so he doesn’t get to witness my breakdown.

 

Michael sighs. “Are you _still_ keeping up this silent treatment? You’re gonna have to talk to us at some point, you know that, right?”

 

Shaking my head, I use my sleeve to wipe my face- before rising to my feet. Ignoring him completely I turn on my heel and walk out of the room, not bothering to listen to his words of apology.

 

“Ash?”

 

Luke comes up behind me, but I ignore him as well, walking over to the fridge. I open the door and grab a bottle of water- before unscrewing the cap and lifting it up to my lips. This way, I don’t have to talk to Luke- and I have an excuse not to.

 

The silent treatment really isn’t benefitting me in any way. In fact, it’s only detrimental to my health- not interacting with my brothers seems almost _painful_. But I have to do it- I’m not going to let them know that I’ve forgiven them for that little _incident_ at the concert.

 

Speaking of that night, I’ve gotten so much hate from it. Comments telling me I’m a baby, and that I should be able to take the hate like a man. Another reason I didn’t want my laundry aired in front of an arena full of fans. They didn’t need to know that.

 

Some shit is personal, and it really upsets me that my brothers don’t respect me enough to keep it that way.

 

…

 

“He’s still icing us out…”

 

Luke sighs, resting his head on my shoulder. His injured arm hangs loosely at his side, and my eyes widen.

 

“Luke, where’s your sling?”

 

He sighs. “That thing was pissing me off, so I took it off. Think it’s in our room or some shit.”

 

“Lukey,” I say gently. “You gotta wear it. It helps keep the swelling down, and that makes it hurt less. You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “Gotta figure out what we’re doing ‘bout Ash…”

 

“And you need your sling. Mikey, could you grab his sling and maybe an icepack? I can see his fingers starting to swell again.”

 

“You fuss too much, Cal…” Luke murmurs. “M’okay…”

 

I roll my eyes. “Totally. You’re exhausted.”

 

“Not as exhausted as Ash is,” Luke replies softly. “Does he even _sleep_ anymore? The bags under his eyes are huge, and they make him look so damn tired.”

 

Michael strolls back into the room- Luke’s sling in one hand, and ice in the other. He hands the sling to me, and I help Luke to sit up, leaning him against my chest. Sliding the sling on, I loop it around him, fastening it properly, so it holds his arm tightly to his chest. Michael presses the ice to the part of his hand sticking out of his cast, and Luke sighs in relief.

 

“Feel better?” I ask knowingly.

 

He nods. “Thanks guys. Now can we please talk about what we’re doing about Ashton?”

 

“What is there to do?” Michael mutters, sighing and slumping back on the couch. “He hates us.”

 

“We thought we were doing a good thing,” Luke reminds him, his hair tickling my chin. I hug him tighter, resting my head on top of his.

 

“Yeah but…I see his point,” I reply. “He’s very outgoing- but he doesn’t like to share his feelings. He doesn’t like anyone to know how he’s feeling on the inside. Emotionally, he’s set up so many walls- like a fortress surrounding him.”

 

“Goddammit, why does he have to be so guarded?” Michael grumbles. “We won’t judge him, he _knows_ that.”

 

“Maybe because I don’t fucking trust you guys.” Ashton appears in front of us, his face twisted in a scowl. “And now, you’ve given me even more of a reason not to. Talking about me behind my back? Thanks a fucking lot.” Without giving us a chance to respond, he turns on his heel and storms out the door, slamming it behind him.

 

“God, we keep screwing up,” Michael sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I just want to hug him. Y’know cuddle him and hold him for a bit? We haven’t had a band cuddle in so long- and he really looks like he could use some love- he really fucking deserves it.”

 

“I think that if you were to try and hug him right now, he’d probably fucking strangle you,” Luke says, a rueful smile crossing his face. “I just don’t know how we let this slip through our fingers. How the _fuck_ did it get this bad?”

 

“Something tells me it’s been bad for a while,” Michael whispers.

 

I squirm nervously, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping they don’t notice my change in posture.

 

“Cal?” Luke asks. He nuzzles into my neck a bit more, and I can feel his hot puffs of breath on my skin. “What’s going on?”

 

“You know something, don’t you?”

 

“Where’d you get that idea?” I laugh nervously, shaking my head. “I’m just as in the dark as you guys are.”

 

“Calum,” Luke says firmly. “Tell us what you know.”

 

I sigh heavily, exhaling a deep breath. “He relapsed. He’s been cutting for a while now.”

 

Michael’s eyes widen. “So you’ve known for this long, and you didn’t bother telling us?! While I was sitting here, worrying myself sick that he’d started again?!”

 

“Mike, calm down. We can yell at Cal later, let’s just figure out how to go from here. Our main priority right now should be helping Ashton.”

 

…

 

“You told them.”

 

Ashton’s voice is cold- haunting almost. He’s glaring at me, eyes dark with anger. “You fucking _told_ them. Even after you _promised_ you wouldn’t say anything!”

 

“I did it for your own good,” I mutter. “You’re falling apart, Ashton. I couldn’t keep them in the dark for much longer. They’re _worried_. We all are.”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Ashton growls. “You say you’re worried, but you betray me like this? What kind of friend _are_ you? Thanks to you, I’m going to have those two assholes breathing down my neck, watching my every move, like I’m some kind of criminal.”

 

“Good,” I reply. “You obviously need to be babysat. If you were really in a bad place, you could’ve come to us. You didn’t need to go back to that blade. What would our girls say, Ashton? What would they say if they saw you doing this to yourself? Have you ever thought about it that way?”

 

“I don’t _care_ what our girls would say,” Ashton hisses. “I need it. I need it to cope. To act like I’m fine for them. To be the guy they imagine- the funny one. Do you know how many of them come to me with self-harm and suicide problems? I need to be able to answer them and help them- I better be able to do _that_  right. And quite damn honestly, they’d _prefer_ me doing this to myself, rather than suffering and not being able to help them when they need me.”

 

“Do you even _know_ how irrational you sound right now?”

 

“I don't fucking _care._ I’m fine, Calum,” Ashton replies. “Fucking _fine_ , and I really think you should pull your fucking _ass_ out of my business, and mind your own.”

 

“Yeah? You’re fine?” I chuckle humorlessly, rising to my feet and crossing the room in a single stride. I grab his arm- ignoring all his words of protest- and shove his sleeve back. “Tell that to your destroyed arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Ashton is angry, I know. And he's got reasons for it. Next chapter is an inside look at how he's feeling. Anyway- thoughts on this? What do you guys think- was it right of Calum to break his promise and tell Michael and Luke about Ashton's relapse? I'd love to know your opinions on that. Anyway- thanks for reading- I hope you enjoyed. The next chapter should be up soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy trigger warning for self-harm, suicide, and depression in this chapter. Read at your own risk. I write what I feel, and my mental state was absolute shit this morning, so I apologize if this is a little too dark...

I’m just done. Fucking finished with the shitty game that is life. And yeah, it is a game. because there are some that win, and others that lose. Some win- they make it through. They grow up to be amazing people with good families and careers and lives. They end up _happy_. But then there’s the other people- the category I’m in. The people who just aren’t strong enough to make it through. The people who buckle under the pressure- crack under the pain, and just end it.

 

I don’t have much regret for this. I may have a couple ounces- but that’s only from the pain I’m going to cause my brothers. It may seem like I hate them- but deep down, I never could. I don’t think it’s possible to hate the three people who have done _so fucking much_ for me. When I wanted to die- back before any of these fucking hashtags started trending- I’d run to Michael or Luke or Calum, and just cuddle with them. And I’d let them hold me, and they’d make me feel better. Just their presence would help in more ways than I can even describe. it’s scary- the effect and impact those three boys have had on me.

 

But I guess I couldn’t hold on. Because quite honestly, jumping off _anything_ sounds good right about now. Jumping off a roof, drowning to my death, being run over by a train or a car? They all sound extremely appealing and I can’t say I’m not heavily considering them. The only problem is the low success rate. Those actions will come with a _shitton_ of pain- but the actual success rate- the chance I have of actually killing myself- that’s slim. Slim to none, because there will always be someone who saves me.

 

There are other ways to go about suicide. Who knew that death- so complicated, with so many strings attached- would be so easy to afflict upon oneself? Cutting too deep is fucking _easy_ , and there are so many OTC drugs out there- that can be purchased by _anyone_ \- which can easily induct an overdose. I just wonder…if suicide prevention has become so big in the world, why are methods of killing oneself so easily acquired? The only one that’s not so easy to come by- is a gun.

 

Shooting myself in the head is pretty much _guaranteed_ to work. Even if someone _did_ find me in time, there wouldn’t be _anything_ doctors could do- especially if the bullet pierced my brain. It’s got the highest success rate, and goddamn, there’s nothing more I want right now. Quick, easy, and painless. They say that when you shoot yourself in the head, you don’t feel anything. Good thing, isn’t it? A way to escape from the pain that is life.

 

And I may sound crazy for talking about all of this- _thinking_ about all of this, even. But I’m not crazy. I’m just damaged. I’ve been hurt and betrayed by so _many_ people, and it’s just left so much emotional scarring. Trust me, if you were in my place, you’d be thinking the same thing- and then you’d understand me. You wouldn’t think I was crazy. Because I’m not. I don’t need to be shipped off to some loony bin, I just need someone to understand. I need someone to understand how much I’ve really put up with in the past few years, and how _done_ I am.

 

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I grab my razor from its hiding spot, and make my way into the bathroom- making sure the door is firmly locked. As pissed as I am with my brothers right now- they don’t deserve to see this. I’m not going to kill myself- but they don’t deserve to see me bleed. It’s a sight for sore eyes- and I don’t want to traumatize them. I just want to stop hurting everyone- it seems like that’s all my presence does.

 

That’s all I am- a fucking monster. Scaring people, making people want to fucking _cut._ I’ve seen everything, believe me- people have posted pictures of their bloody wrists, with the tagline- ‘I cut because of you’. And honestly, how do you think that makes me feel? Do you people _really_ think I get joy in knowing that someone has _self-harmed_ because of my disgusting presence? Honestly. Step into my shoes for a minute, and just _think_.

 

Think about how painful cruel words can be. Think about it long and hard- pretend it was _your_ name. #KeepCutting(Yourname)YoureTrash. And tell me, how would that make _you_ feel? People who tell me I have no reason to get upset, that it’s just hate, I want you to take a step back, and think about how _you’d_ feel. Because I’m only human. And I’m only reacting to these types of things the normal way.

 

I’m only human. I’m not made of rock or steel. My emotions aren’t stripped away, just because I’m famous. The hate hurts, and damn, it hurts bad. So honestly, I’d love to know- what the _fuck_ did you people get out of breaking me?

 

…

 

“Where’s Ashton?”

 

My eyes widen, as Luke trudges into the room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “He didn’t come back last night, did he?”

 

“No,” Calum mutters. “He found out that I told you guys he relapsed. He was _pissed_. And so goddamn irrational. He said that he needs the blade to be okay for our fans. He needs to hurt himself, so he can help our girls. What the fuck?”

 

I sigh. “That isn’t irrational, Cal. Take it from someone with experience.”

 

Calum freezes- he and Luke both turn to stare at me, eyes wide and mouths gaping in fear. “Experience? Mikey…you mean you cut too…?”

 

“Used to,” I mutter. “Over five years ago. I’ve been clean for four years, you have nothing to worry about. My scars have all faded- the only reminder I have is the mental onslaught. That’s why I cuddle with Ash whenever I get hate. I need him. He makes me feel better. The blade isn’t the first thing on my mind anymore, he is. But what I mean is- to a self-harmer, cutting makes you feel okay. It’s like a sense of relief, a sense of comfort, you could say. And when you rely on it, you just _need_ that to get through the day. You need it to put on that fake smile and pretend you’re okay.”

 

“I had no idea…” Luke mutters.

 

“You wouldn’t,” I reply. “No one can really understand him, unless they’ve experienced it for themselves. Seriously guys, it hurts so fucking much- I wouldn’t wish the pain on my worst enemy. But I just want him to come to me. He feels a lot more close to me- than to you two- because I understand him. I understand what he’s going through, and I _know_ how to help him. I know how to recover from something like this, and I’m willing to do everything I can to help him- but the thing is this. He has to _want_ help. Forcing him to quit cold turkey will heighten the risk of a suicide attempt. He has to _want_ to quit, for it to work.”

 

…

 

I didn’t want to kill myself. Not right now, I mean. Cutting would’ve sufficed. I had no intent of actually committing suicide. But I just found out about two new trends on Twitter. #ashtonhangyourself and #Ashtonslityourthroat. Needless to say, I’m finally giving them what they want. I’m fucking _sick_ of reading that bullshit- so I guess, if I give them what they want, everything will stop. And I won’t be alive to see it. Another plus.

 

The roof of our house is at least twelve feet above the ground. I’m not sure whether I plan to jump off it- or slit my wrist up there- because there’s less of a chance of someone finding me on the roof. No one would think to check there, so I can finally bleed out in peace. I don’t want to be saved. I think that’s the bottom line here- I’ll do whatever it takes to end it, and I don’t honestly _care_ what it is.

 

Finally on the roof, I scoot down, so I’m sitting on the ledge, staring at the ground below. Jumping off it would be…amazing. The onslaught of agony wouldn’t be nice, but the feeling of plummeting to my own death isn’t scary- at least, not in my eyes. I’m fucked up. Call me crazy all you want, I’ve lost the will to care anymore.

 

I pull the blade out of my pocket, and turn it over in my hands, staring at the gleaming surface. It shines in the dark night- creating a silvery glow. Rolling up my sleeve, I stare at the cuts lining my arm. I’m planning on dragging the blade right down the middle, reopening each healing cut, while creating a long gash. Definitely enough to make me bleed out. Even if they do get me to the hospital in time, blood loss will kill me.

 

…

 

None of us have any idea where Ashton is, but I have a niggling thought at the back of my head. He always goes up to the roof when he’s upset- it’s quiet and serene up there- so maybe he’ll be up there? I’m the only one who knows about his liking for doing that- Luke and Calum are in the dark about the entire thing.

 

“I think I know where he is,” I mutter to Luke and Calum. “I’ll text you when I find him.”

 

Without waiting for an answer, I turn and run- footsteps pounding as I make my way to the roof of our house. He has to be up here. He has to be. Otherwise…I don’t know what we’re going to do.

 

And sure enough, he is.

 

But my eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s sitting on the _edge_ of the roof, clutching a silver razor blade in his hand, turning it over in his fingers. He can’t be…oh fuck…no, that cannot happen.

 

I walk toward him, making sure my footsteps make no noise. If I startle him- there’s a chance he might accidentally fall off the ledge, and I wouldn’t dare want that. I make myself as small and quiet as possible, until I finally scoot down beside him. “Ashton?”

 

Ashton stiffens. One glance at me, and he’s squirming away, trying to get as far away from me as possible.

 

“Ashton, no. Please, you’re scaring me. Let me help you, Ash. I know what it’s like, I can help you. I can make you happy again, you just need to let me. Please baby…come on…”

 

“No!” Ashton cries, his eyes wild, as he tightens his grip around the blade. “Don’t touch me! Don’t come any closer, I’m warning you!”

 

“And I’m not listening,” I reply. “Give me the goddamn blade.”

 

“I swear to fucking god, if you don’t get the _fuck_ off this roof in the next two seconds, I’m jumping off,” Ashton growls. “And I mean it.”

 

“Too bad.” I scoot myself a bit closer. “I am not moving.”

 

“Then you can say good fucking bye to Ashton Irwin, for fucking ever.” Ashton uses his hands to propel himself closer, so he’s hanging onto the roof by just his hands. But I’m faster than he thinks. I wind my arms around his waist, dragging him back, and tightening them around him, so he can’t get away.

 

“Fuck you, Michael! Let me die! Get your fucking hands _off_ me!” Ashton screams, his voice hoarse from crying.

 

“I’d rather not,” I reply. “Because I don’t want the next time I see you- to be in an ambulance, or worse- a hospital bed.”

 

“I don’t _care_ what you want,” Ashton growls. “What _I_ want, is to _die_!”

 

And then he takes the razor blade, tightening his grip around it- and slides it down the length of his forearm.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving you guys on such an awful cliffhanger, here's the next chapter. I'll just let you read, think I've tortured you all enough.

Blood is all I can focus on, at that very moment. Ashton’s arm is gushing blood, and he’s slowly going limp in my arms- eyes almost shutting fully from blood loss. After another few moments of just plainly _staring_ , I take control. I whip out my phone and dial an ambulance, before shooting off a quick text to Luke.

 

Shrugging off my shirt, I wrap it around his arm and press down _hard_. He whimpers quietly, hallucination overtaking his mind, as he lays listlessly in my arms. Tears streaking my cheeks, I force him to look at me, meeting his foggy gaze.

 

“You cannot fucking die on me, you hear?” I cry, shaking his shoulders. “Dammit Ashton, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

 

“Mikey…” Ashton slurs. “M’sorry…”

 

“No,” I choke out, lifting his body into my arms and rising to my feet. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s my fault for being too late.”

 

…

 

“Michael, you foun- holy _fuck_ , what the _hell_ happened?!”

 

In Michael’s arms is a limp Ashton, with Michael’s shirt firmly wrapped around his wrist. Michael’s face is streaked with tears, as he lays Ashton down on the couch, placing two fingers to his neck.

 

“He tried to kill himself, what the fuck do you _think_ happened?!” Michael bursts out.

 

“Oh my god…did you call an ambulance?”

 

“Yeah,” Michael says hoarsely. “Should be here soon. Where’s Calum?”

 

“Right here.” Calum strides into the room, his face paling at the scene. “Did he…?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh god…fucking hell…”

 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Michael reassures us. “The blood is stopping, his pulse is there. He just needs to get stitched up, but they’re probably going to put him on suicide watch.”

 

“The hell is that?” Calum asks, his voice low with obvious fear.

 

“Monitoring his every move. Hospital stay for seventy-two hours. Nothing sharp in the near vicinity. Basically, they’re trying to keep him from attempting again,” Michael mutters. “I was on it a few years ago. Fucking hell.”

 

“How did we not know?” I cry, glaring at them. “How did it get _this_ bad?!”

 

“He clammed up, Luke,” Calum sighs. “He held everything in. When you build up your emotions to that point, a breakdown _is_ in your future. He hit rock bottom. But he’s going to recover from this. He did it once, he can definitely do it again. And we’re going to help him. Be there every single step of the way. The most important thing- is that we _can’t_ leave him alone in this. He already feels abandoned enough.”

 

“What if he doesn’t want help?”

 

Michael lifts his head to meet my gaze. “It’s not about what Ashton wants anymore, Luke. It’s about what he _needs_.”

 

…

 

“He’s going to be fine. They’re just stitching him up, and giving him back the blood he lost. He’ll be pretty weak for a while, but he’s going to make a full recovery,” Calum mutters, sitting down in the hospital chair next to mine.

 

“Yeah, physically,” Luke says pointedly.

 

“His mental state is fucking _shit_ right now,” I sigh. “He’s a mess, guys, and we’re going to have to figure out how to help him.”

 

“He won’t _come_ to any of us!” Luke cries. “How are we supposed to help him if he won’t _let us in_?!”

 

“He’s scared, Luke,” I say. “Behind that wall of anger he’s put up, lies cold, vulnerable fear. He’s terrified to open himself up to us- for a reason I still can’t put my finger on. But he’s terrified, and we need to figure out _why_. Something is keeping him from telling us the truth.”

 

“Fucking hell…” Calum mutters, leaning his head back and sighing. “What are we going to tell the fam? Twitter’s fucking _exploding_.”

 

“Nothing, for now,” Luke replies. “Just tell them that we’re at the hospital with Ashton, and that he’s going to be one hundred percent fine. They don’t know about his relapse, and we’re not going to tell them until we have more information.”

 

“I just wanna see him, dammit…” I trail off, putting my head in my hands. “I just want to see for myself that he’s okay and alive…because he went unconscious in _my_ arms, and goddammit…the last time I saw him, he was bleeding and slowly _dying_ …”

…

 

I guess you could say that I’m ready to move on.

 

I’m ready to move past the suicide attempt, and help Ashton in any way I can. I’m ready to be there for him whenever he needs me- because that’s what friends and brothers _do_. He’s been on his own for much too log- been trying his best to fight his own demons, and it’s definitely not working out in his favor. He can get better. I don’t doubt that for a second. He’s definitely capable of recovering from this.

 

Ashton is probably the strongest person I’ve ever met. He’s such an amazing person- with so much courage and strength in him. The fire he used to have- the passion for what he does- burned so fucking bright. He burned so fucking bright- helping anyone, doing everything he could to help out anyone in need. I honestly did admire him more than anything.

 

When I use the past tense- did- it doesn’t mean I still don’t admire him. But he’s lost his glow. Ashton Irwin glows so fucking brightly. His name even sets off a clear image in anyone’s mind. I just want to bring him back to that. Teach him how to love again- not romantic love, per-say- how to love life. Life is honestly a gift- and wanting to die- he is broken beyond words. But you know what they say- anything broken _can_ be fixed.

 

I just don’t know why people feel the need to push a person to suicide. I don’t fucking get it. Like, honestly, what did you even get in sending Ashton a shitton of hate? Your reward was the boy cutting his wrists, and even trying to _kill_ himself, in order to escape. And if you ask me, that’s a pretty sick award. He’s absolutely perfect in all of our eyes.

 

I don’t mean he has no flaws- every person has flaws. Michael’s obsession with video games, and Luke’s shyness are their flaws. I know I have some, but I’m not exactly clear on them. Ashton’s biggest flaw is his inability to communicate. He wants to help everyone he can, but he’s risking his own mental health for it…and it honestly seems like he doesn’t care.

 

…

 

I’m just so fucking confused.

 

I don’t understand why Ashton did it. I know that the hate he gets is fucking disgusting and all kinds of atrocious, but I never imagined he’d actually try and end it for good. Just the thought makes emotion bubble up in my throat, leaving me choked up with eyes glassing over. Confused is one word that can associate with my feelings, but hurt is another. I just want Ashton back.

 

And I don’t mean this Ashton…this isn’t Ashton. He’s changed so much- my love for him is unconditional- but he’s a shell of his former self, and I really want the old Ashton back. The old Ashton would always hold me and cradle me whenever I was upset- he was genuinely happy and smiling- and…I just want that back. He was the reason Michael, Calum, and I were about to get up every morning- and goddamn, he was the happiest person ever. I want Ashton to be happy again. Not fake happy. Real happy.

 

He deserves that. He’s been through a lot of shit in his lifetime- and I know people would probably disagree, claim I’m just playing a sympathy card- but no. He was forced to grow up at a young age- his father walked out on their family. So he had to grow up, become the man of the house, and help his mum raise Harry and Lauren. Not to mention the horrendous bullying he endured in school, and his first time struggles with self-harm. Honestly, Ashton is one of the strongest and most courageous people ever, and it really pisses me off that people can be so damn rude.

 

Ashton hasn’t done one goddamn thing to deserve the comments. He’s nothing short of an angel, but in return- he gets drowned in bullshit that makes him want to kill himself. People are fucking cruel. Ashton is a fucking angel. He’s helped so many people and given so many fans hope- and this is how he’s thanked? I honestly would love to curse a lot of the haters out right now- but that would drag me down to their level. And honestly- I don’t want to be on the same level as some people who pushed my brother to attempt suicide.

 

…

 

All I can see is red. I’m fucking pissed.

 

Mainly at myself. I knew there was something wrong. Ashton is closest to me- he always comes to me when he’s upset. I should have known how much he was struggling. I know that he built up a wall around himself- but I should’ve been able to penetrate that. He’s my best friend. My brother. I’m closer to him than I am to Luke or Calum. Hell, he knows things about me that only my mum knows. Ashton is my other half- my best friend. And I let him try and commit suicide- and what did I do? I _watched_. I watched him drag that blade down his wrist- I didn’t even _try_ to stop him. So what the _fuck_ does that make me?

 

I blame myself for this entire thing. I couldn’t stop it- and my worst nightmare ended up coming true. Do you know how traumatizing it is to have your brother almost bleed to death in your own arms? Well lemme fucking tell you, it’s traumatizing as hell, and I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move on from this.

 

And I’m just fucking pissed at the haters. Honestly, why? What the _fuck_ did Ashton do to deserve this kind of treatment? He’s fucking sunshine, and a ball of happiness that spreads so much love wherever he goes. You guys broke him. You changed him. He was fucking happy. He was enjoying life, having fun, and being himself. He was _recovering_. But it’s all gone now. Every trace of happiness is gone. He’s empty and broken. Fragile and shattered, because of the cruel words you just _had_ to message him. If it were me, I’d be just as broken as he is. But it fucking _kills_ me to see him this way, because he’s done _nothing_ to deserve it. So, haters, I hope you guys are proud of yourselves. I may lose my brother for fucking _good_ , because of you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and it's been a couple days and I'm sorry. But it's an important chapter- pay close attention to the conversation at the end- it's an important player in the upcoming chapters. Enjoy. And also see if you catch the reference I made. It's subtle but it's there.

“You guys can see him now. Just be mindful- this _was_ a suicide attempt, and he is on suicide watch. Additionally- try to keep the negativity outside of his room- as it will only encourage him to try again. If you need anything, there’s a button on the side of his bed you can press to call for assistance.”

 

Luke, Calum, and I nod to the nurse, before she turns and walks off in the other direction. I rest my hand on the doorknob, waiting a moment, before opening it and stepping inside. Luke and Calum follow me, their eyes wide with worry, as we take in the setup of Ashton’s hospital room.

 

A screen above Ashton’s IV shows things like heart rate and oxygen intake. His IV is a pole with a tube sticking out of it, which is connected to his arm. And honestly, Ashton looks so small and pale in that hospital bed. He’s a few shades whiter than normal, exhaustion evident on his features. There’s thick white gauze wrapped around his entire left forearm, hiding the cut he hoped would end it all.

 

“Hey, Ash…” Calum whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. “How are you…?”

 

“Pissed,” Ashton grumbles. “You should’ve just let me die.”

 

Luke stares at him, eyes glassy, lip quivering. “Why would you even _say_ that?! We need you _here_. We’re not 5 Seconds of Summer without you. You’re the other half of Mashton, and the reason some of our girls haven’t _killed_ themselves!”

 

“Well, I’m a shitty reason,” Ashton mutters. “They shouldn’t deceive themselves into believing I’m an angel. Because I’m a fucking hypocrite that tells them not to cut, but then goes and slices his own wrists when he thinks no one’s looking.”

 

“Ash…”

 

“Just…don’t…” Ashton sighs. “Please. Don’t tell me how much you love me and you need me and that I shouldn’t have done it…I’m in no mood to argue with anyone right now.” He glances at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been quiet, Mike.”

 

“What do you _want_ me to say?!” I reply, my gaze locking with his. “You almost _died_ in my arms, Ashton! You almost fucking bled to death! And that ambulance ride was one from _hell_. They almost _lost_ you a couple times. And all you can talk about is how it should’ve worked.”

 

…

 

“He’s pretty upset…”

 

“Really?”

 

“No…”

 

“But seriously, Ash, are you seriously thinking about trying _again_?” I whisper, trying to hold back tears.

 

Ashton sighs heavily. “Come here, Luke.” He holds his arms open, and I nod, leaning down so he can hug me. I hug him back one-handedly, but that’s honestly easier said than done. Ashton’s grip on me is strong, so I just stay there- not wanting to move anytime soon.

 

“Answer his question, Ashton,” Calum says firmly.

 

Ashton’s grip tightens, but I manage to pull away and join Calum in staring at him. He shakes his head, picking at the threads on his blanket. “I’m not going to lie to you guys, so _yes_. Yes, I’m thinking about killing myself again. And it doesn’t bother me. You wanna know why? Because there are _so_ many people that want me dead, it isn’t even funny. Tell me, if you were getting the hate that I am, you’d be damaged inside too.”

 

“I’m not denying that you’re damaged inside,” Calum replies. “But you don’t need to end your life to escape. You have us. And if you’re really done with everything, we can take a break. We can go off the radar for a couple weeks, no social media, and just relax.”

 

“And _how_ is running away from my problems going to solve them?”

 

“You’re not running away from anything. You’re taking a mental break- and quite damn honestly, you need one. We all do. We’re fucking exhausted, the hate is reaching a new all time high, and I think that tensions are running high _because_ of all the stress. A couple weeks of relaxation would do this band good.”

 

“We have fans, Calum,” Ashton murmurs. “Fans that need us to stay alive. We can’t just disappear for two weeks, and expect the fam to welcome us back with open arms.”

 

“He’s right,” I cut in. “We can’t disappoint them like this.”

 

Calum’s eyes widen. “So, you’re telling me- you two would rather be faced with the hate? The stress? The getting up at arse-o’clock in the morning? When you could give it up for fourteen days? I don’t know what planet you both live on, but on planet Earth, getaways are not a bad thing. Taking time off to worry about your mental health isn’t a bad thing. And quite damn honestly, how can you help our girls, when you can’t even help yourselves?”

 

…

 

“Hey.”

 

I almost jump when I hear Ashton’s voice, but when I look up- he’s staring at me, dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. His hair is a mess and his skin is still as pale as before, but his eyes are dark and full of sincerity.

 

“Can I sit?” Ashton asks, motioning to the space beside me.

 

“Yeah,” I reply, scooting over. He lowers himself down against the wall, and immediately presses against me, leeching off my body heat. Makes sense, he lost a shitton of blood.

 

“Why are you here?” I ask, staring at the floor. “You should be in bed. Aren’t you on suicide watch?”

 

“Calum and Luke are waiting around the corner,” Ashton reassures me. “And yes, I’m supposed to be in bed, but not when one of my brothers is pissed at me. So, because you’re pissed at me, I’m gonna make shit right.”

 

“It’s not that easy,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “And you don’t have to lie about your feelings to make me feel better.”

 

“I’m not going to,” Ashton says. “I want to die, and I’m going to be blunt about it. But I know I put you through hell, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find me. I wanted it to be as quick and painless as possible.”

 

“Quick and painless?” I snort, refusing to meet his gaze. “I thought we’d lost you for good…”

 

“And I’d be lying if that doesn’t seem extremely appeal right now,” Ashton sighs. “I do want to be gone, Mikey. But…I just don’t want to hurt you guys anymore than I already have. And if that means staying, and putting up with all of this bullshit, then I’ll do it.”

 

“Well, aren’t you selfless?” I mutter bitterly, shaking my head.

 

“What’s going on with you, Mikey?”

 

“Nothing,” I fake smile at him. “My brother tried to kill himself, and I’m sitting here and everything is peachy keen.”

 

Ashton gives me a look, and I glare at him. “What the fuck do you _want_ me to say, Ashton?! I’d _love_ to curse you out right now, but I don’t want to put you through that, so I’d rather you left me alone.”

 

“I wish you would just yell at me,” Ashton mumbles.

 

“Why? So I can prove you right? That I’m pissed at you and the world hates you? I’m not in the mood to see you bleed out again, thanks a lot.”

 

Ashton stiffens beside me, staring at the gauze on his arm. “Seriously Michael, what the fuck is your _problem_?”

 

“My problem is this,” I growl. “You’re sorry that we had to see you unconscious. You’re sorry that you almost bled out in my arms. You’re sorry for hurting us. But you’re _not_ sorry for trying to fucking _kill_ yourself. And if I hadn’t found out the way I did, you’d be gone and you wouldn’t even regret it. You’re not sorry you tried to do it. You’re sorry that you got caught.”


	10. Chapter 10

 I never realized how easy it is to get a blade. It’s so damn easy to find a sharp piece of metal, and conceal it- hiding it from prying eyes, and appearing as normal as possible. I haven’t done this in five years, and I promised myself- when I made my last cut- that it’d be the final one. Ever. That I would never slice into my own flesh again- because there were other ways of coping, and I needed to realize that.

 

And now, I’m heavily considering going back. Because my method of coping is lost- hell, Ashton tried to kill himself, and I didn’t stop him. He was in my arms, and I still wasn’t able to prevent him from slicing a blade down the length of his forearm. What kind of friend am I? What kind _brother_ am I? He needed me, and I was too blind to see that he’d relapsed.

 

 _Calum_ was the one who found out about Ashton’s relapse. Not me, not the person who shares a room with Ashton. Calum found out, and I was fucking clueless until he accidentally told us. How do you _think_ that makes me feel? It’s basically my fault that Ashton tried to kill himself- I shouldn’t be blaming him for my mistake. I’ve cut myself before. I’ve been suicidal. I should know the signs. I should’ve _seen_ the signs. And the fact that I _didn’t_ , and I almost lost Ashton for good…that makes me hate myself for than anything.

 

I hate myself so goddamn much. All the memories are coming back- and I’m starting to scrutinize myself even more. Looking in a mirror, all of my flaws stand out- things I would’ve overlooked before. My stomach is pudgier, my cheeks are puffed out- and all I can see on myself is fat. The green hair doesn’t seem as attractive anymore- in fact, it looks fucking disgusting. I look like a fucking vampire with how pale my skin is- it makes me wonder why I never bothered sitting out in the sun with Luke, Ash, and Cal, and tanning.

 

I guess the years of blowing off exercise have finally caught up to me. Eating all that pizza, not watching my weight at all- I’m finally paying the price for it. I just…I don’t know why I was such an idiot, and I really wish I could’ve realized this before I turned into a fatass pig.

 

No wonder I hate myself so much.

 

…

 

The suicide watch passes quickly. After seventy-two hours, I’m allowed to go home, and quite honestly- it couldn’t have gone faster. The hospital is depressing- with white walls and the same routine repeated each day. It’s boring, irritating, and I’m so glad to be done with it.

 

Sliding off the bed, I grab my phone, and slip it into my pocket. I glance up- just in time to see Luke walk into the room, his facial expression weary. “You ready? There’s a shitload of fans out there.”

 

His tone is heavy with exhaustion, and I can see the visible dark circles under his eyes. His sling is on, and his arm is still held tightly against his chest- I can tell it causes him a lot of discomfort. I force a smile. “Yeah. Where are Mikey and Cal?”

 

“Already in the car,” Luke replies. “I volunteered to come get you. We have to go out the back- otherwise we’ll be swarmed. You gotta post something on Twitter tonight, telling the fam what’s up.”

 

I nod, not exactly sure but that- but I really don’t want to get into it right now. Luke looks like he has no energy left to think- and my main priority is making sure he doesn’t fall over, on our way to the car.

 

“You okay, Lukey?” I ask gently, wrapping my good arm around his shoulders and drawing him close to me, as we walk out of the room.

 

He sighs. “Just stressed. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

“Is your cast getting in the way?”

 

He shakes his head. “It just aches. My fingers keep swelling up, and my entire arm starts to ache really badly, and it fucking hurts.”

 

“Oh, Lukey…” I exhale a heavy breath, pressing closer to him, as we walk out the back doors of the hospital. Screaming greets us- fans gathered in clusters, held away from running at us by wired fences. The car is waiting a few feet away, and there are a bunch of paparazzi standing near it, cameras flashing.

 

“Shit…” Luke mutters. “Alright, well, we’ll just have to make a run for it.”

 

“Be careful with your arm,” I order. “Stay behind me.”

 

“It’s you they want, Ash,” Luke says. “The gauze on your arm is where their attention is being drawn. They suspect things. Rumors are already flying.”

 

“Let’s just make a run for it, and we can talk about this in the car, yeah? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

“I’m fine,” Luke reassures me. “I just need sleep.”

 

I nod- not exactly agreeing with him, but in no place to argue. “You ready?” When I receive the affirmative from him, I take a step forward.

 

And the next few minutes are a blur. I’m running as fast as I can, trying to keep Luke close to me. He’s keeping up easily- long legs aiding in stride. The paparazzi blind my eyes with their flashing cameras, making my mind whirl with questions.

 

“ASHTON! IS IT TRUE THAT YOU WERE IN THE HOSPITAL FOR A SUICIDE ATTEMPT?! ARE THERE STITCHES UNDER THAT BANDAGE?!”

 

“ASHTON! DID YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF?!”

 

Ignoring everything, I push my way through them, Luke following. Finally, we reach the car, and slide in. Luke makes his way into the back, and I follow him, sitting down next to him moments later. He presses close to me, placing his head on my shoulder, and I sigh, coaxing him to close his eyes.

 

“You guys good?” The driver asks. Calum mutters a slight affirmative, and then we’re off- silence draping over the car stickily- tension high.

 

“Can someone please say something?” I ask softly, staring at my feet. “I don’t care if it’s yelling at me.”

 

“What do we have to yell at you for?” Calum replies. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“I tried to kill myself,” I deadpan. “I think that’s wrong.”

 

“Do you?” Michael growls. “Do you really think it was wrong? Or do you still wish you would’ve died?”

 

“Mike, cool it,” Calum warns, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t need this right now.”

 

…

 

“Someone care to tell me what crawled up Michael’s ass?” Calum grumbles, as he watches the green-haired boy storm into the house.

 

“He’s pissed at me,” Ashton replies bitterly. “Because I still want to die.”

 

“He’s being a dick,” I sigh, as Ashton helps me out of the car. “He needs to get his boxers out of a twist.”

 

“Well…that’s an _interesting_ way of putting it…” Calum says slowly, before turning to Ashton. “What are you going to tell the fam?”

 

Ashton shakes his head. “I’m just gonna say I was in the hospital, hurt my arm playing drums, but I’m fine now, and I love them all.”

 

“Do you really think they’ll believe that?” I ask. “They know about your past history with cutting, Ash.”

 

“They have to,” Ashton says tightly. “I’m _not_ telling them that I relapsed. It’ll break them, and I can’t put them through that. I’m their rock, and I need to appear strong for them.”

 

“But aren’t you essentially lying to them?”

 

Ashton looks me in the eye. “The truth is cold and hard to swallow, Luke. Take it from me, sometimes, you’re better off with a really good lie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did any of you catch my reference? And I'd love to know what you thought- thanks for reading- hope you enjoyed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...this chapter's pretty heavy on the triggering- eating disorders, depression, self-harm, and suicide. I'm sorry, I had a really shitty past couple days, and it impacted my writing.

I never thought I’d be as disgusted in myself as I am right now. As I stare at my naked reflection in the mirror, self-hatred rushes through me- furious, like water rushing down a waterfall. I can’t believe I didn’t notice this until now. Until I started to hate myself again. The self-hatred was bad, back when I was around 13 or 14, but not nearly as bad as it is right now. My mind is plagued by thoughts of worthlessness, and quite honestly? It leaves me feeling completely useless- like I don’t deserve the place I have on this Earth.

 

It’s no secret that I despise exercise. The burning feeling of working out is comforting to some- but my idea of comfort is pizza, Netflix, and a day to myself. Ashton loves working out- maybe that’s why he’s so damn muscular. Calum usually goes with him- Luke doesn’t work out as much, but he does it a couple times a month- at least he’s better than I am.

 

I don’t remember the last time I went to the gym- the only form of exercise I have are our concerts. We run around and jump around on stage- and I guess that’s what’s helped me to keep my fat hidden from the fans for so long. But the years of shameless junkfood consumption have caught up to me now. I’m so disgusting- the mirror never lies. This needs to change. I need to do something, before I end up losing my brothers to my fat.

 

Before I end up letting a food addiction control my life. I can go to the gym. I can lose the weight. I can be thin. And all it’s gonna take is a diet, some working out, and more importantly- determination.

 

I’ve got this.

 

…

 

“I’m going downstairs,” I mutter, plugging my earbuds into the socket of my phone. I put my right one in, before selecting a song. When I glance back up, it’s to shocked gazes of my three brothers.

 

“All that’s downstairs is the gym…” Calum says slowly, as Ashton shifts slightly. His head is resting on the bassist’s lap, but he’s still looking at me.

 

“Since when have you _ever_ gone to the gym?” Luke stares at me, eyes wide. “Is something wrong, Mikey?”

 

“No, nothing’s wrong,” I reply. “And I know that the gym is downstairs, that’s the point. I’m gonna go run.”

 

“Okay, seriously, what’s the deal? You _don’t_ run,” Ashton repeats. “You _never_ have. You _hate_ running.”

 

“I decided it was time to try something new.” I glare at him, daring him to continue on the path he’s on. “Why is that such an issue with you guys? You’re all watching TV, anyway.”

 

“And you’d usually be with us…” Luke whispers, his head hanging.

 

“And usually, there wouldn’t be gauze around Ashton’s wrist, reminding all of us of what he just tried to do to himself,” I growl, turning on my heel and walking toward the basement door. I let myself in, slamming the door behind me, cutting off anything they have to say. I knew they wouldn’t be supportive of this.

 

They just want me to stay the fucking fatass that I am, so they can leave. So they can get out without a problem. They just want me to stay the way I am, so they can leave and not feel an ounce of resentment over it.

 

…

 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Calum growls.

 

“He’s been acting like a dick these past few days,” Luke agrees, still refusing to meet any of our gazes.

 

“He’s just really pissed at me,” I sigh, playing with the gauze on my arm. My stitches aren’t healed yet, the gauze stays until they’re taken out.

 

“Why?” Calum mutters. “You tried to kill yourself. It’s done and over with, you’re still alive, and he needs to get the fuck over himself.”

 

“It’s not that easy, Cal.” I lift my body up, sitting properly on the couch, and pressing myself into his side.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Think of it this way,” I say. “Let’s say it was Luke instead of me, and you instead of Mikey. Let’s say he tried to kill himself, and you had the chance to stop him, but you were too late. How would you feel?”

 

Calum stays silent, his eyes darkening.

 

“He’s blaming himself, isn’t he?” Luke cuts in, his voice small.

 

I nod grimly. “Exactly. Even though it wasn’t his fault- he still blames himself fully. And until he gets over that, he’s going to be angry at me. He’s channeling the hurt he felt when he thought I’d die- into anger, and guys, I’m okay with that. He needs some space right now. You have no idea what he went through back there- it must’ve been traumatizing.”

 

“Seeing you bleed out? Yeah, we saw it too,” Calum mumbles. “We’re not being utter dicks to you.”

 

“Michael saw me slice my wrist. He saw me reopen every cut on there- along with create the long gash that almost killed me. He’s angry for a reason. Our relationship is like your guys’. I’m closest to him. It makes sense.”

 

“It does, but…isn’t this hurting you? All the shit he’s saying,” Luke asks.

 

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s doing it because he loves me more than anything, and he doesn’t want to lose me. He doesn’t mean any of it- I can bet you a hundred bucks he doesn’t. It’s just his way of dealing with things.”

 

“You know about his cutting, don’t you?”

 

Sighing heavily, I nod. “I was the first person he told, you guys. And I’ve helped him to resist it so many times- we know exactly what it’s like to be in each other’s spots. He knows the pain I felt, and that’s why he’s beating himself up. He hates that he let me feel that much pain- even though it isn’t his fault. He’ll blame himself, no matter what.”

 

…

 

I’m out of shape.

 

That’s an understatement. As I continue to run, the burning in my legs and the cramps in my stomach overwhelm my entire body with pain. I feel awful, and I really just want to get off this machine, go back upstairs, and curl up next to Ashton.

 

That sure as hell isn’t happening- but the thought is comforting. Even with Green Day blasting in my ears, I can’t shake the feeling of pain away, and quite honestly, I just feel like I wanna die. I just wanna die right here and right now. It’s not the temporary feeling people get when they exercise- I seriously think my depression is coming back to haunt me, its shadows looming over me like dark clouds.

 

I just…even before everything happened with Ashton, I wasn’t doing so well. The hate from the fans was getting worse, and well…depression isn’t something that ever goes away. It always stays with you, and relapsing is actually really easy. I’ve relapsed a couple times, but they’ve never been as bad as it is now.

 

I just want Ashton…but he’s already got enough on his plate. He tried to kill himself- he has to deal with enough right now. But he’s always been my “person”. The person I go to, whenever I’m upset, need to cry, or just need to vent to. He’s always been there to listen- like Luke is for Calum, and vice-versa. Sure, I’m really close to Luke and Cal and I love them more than anything, but Ash…Ash is definitely my go-to person in situations such as this one.

 

And I just…I seriously thought I was going to lose him. I seriously thought he was going to die- and the daunting fear that paralyzed my body when the thought crossed my mind was spell-binding. It’s what fuels my anger right now- the thought of losing him. I can’t lose him. I _can’t_. I need him. I really need him, and I may sound extremely clingy and needy and fucking stupid, but it’s the way I am, and I can’t change it.

 

I get too attached, and then people leave. People have left me before, and there are some things I’ve never really recovered from. And Ashton is the person I’m most attached to- the thought of him dying on me…it broke me. It’s breaking me. I’m not okay; I really don’t think I could be- at this point.

 

I’m alive, but dead inside, and the feeling of being numb is so fucking awful.

 

I just want the pain to end.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, pretty heavy angst chapter. Major trigger warning for eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, and depression. And happy birthday Lukey, I love you<3

“Guys, I’m taking Luke to the doctor’s for his follow up!”

 

Calum’s voice rings throughout the house, as he pulls Luke closer to him- arm wrapped firmly around the tall blonde’s shoulders. Luke is staring at the ground- not speaking- save for short mumbles that don’t really contribute much to the conversation. He’s been pretty quiet for the past few days- but that doesn’t seem to faze me, maybe because that’s part of his personality- he’s naturally shy, quiet, and quite insecure about himself.

 

“Bye guys,” I say softly, as Calum leads Luke out the door. Sighing to myself, I slump back against the couch, closing my eyes. I really want to go talk to Mikey- I want to get him to admit how hurt he is, so I can help him. If he confesses, I can help him- I can’t do anything if he won’t talk to me.

 

I know that he’s not okay. It’s obvious that he’s breaking down again- maybe not obvious to Cal and Luke- but definitely obvious to me. I know the signs, and my best friend seriously looks like he’s about to fall apart. Michael has a wall of anger up- guarding the emotions he hopes desperately to keep to himself. He has trust issues and a hard time letting people in- and I really think my suicide attempt broke him.

 

I’m not going to say I regret what I did. I tried to kill myself, and yes, I wanted to die. I still _do_ want to die, but I know that I can’t try again. I can’t put my brothers through something like that again- it’d damage them so badly, and they haven’t done anything to deserve it. Honestly, if I just have Michael back, I think I’ll be okay. And I know he doesn’t hate me, he’s just hurt. And in his book, hurt translates into anger.

 

Exhaling a heavy sigh, I rise to my feet. I need to talk to him- and pondering over it is not going to get anything done. I just need to take the plunge and do it. The worst that can happen is getting blown up at again, and I think I can take that. He doesn’t mean what he says, and I just need to keep that in mind. I just want to make sure he’s okay, and sometimes, doing the right thing comes with sacrifice.

 

…

 

When I don’t find him in our bedroom, I know that this is serious. He must be downstairs, and I hate that he feels he has to start exercising for some odd reason. It’s not that I don’t want him to- it’s that he’s using it as a form of punishment, and I really hate that he’s doing that to himself.

 

Sure enough, when I emerge into the basement, I find him running on the treadmill, drenched in sweat- face red. I can hear his heavy breathing, and he looks so exhausted. It honestly breaks my heart- why the fuck is he doing this to himself? Doesn’t he realize that I’m here for him and that I can help him solve his problems, and that he doesn’t need to kill himself running?

                                                                                                           

“Mikey?”

 

Michael lifts his head and looks at me, his emerald eyes dark with agony. “Go away.” His voice is shot and horse, leaving me sighing again.

 

“No,” I reply, walking closer. He presses a button on the treadmill to increase his speed, and I stare at him. Is he _trying_ to kill himself? “Mikey, you’re gonna kill yourself on that thing. You look exhausted. I think it’s time you get off…”

 

Michael gives a slight shake of his head. “I’m not done yet. Go away, please. Leave me alone.”

 

“You’re drenched in sweat, and you look like you’re about to pass out. What more do you want?” I ask, leaning on the machine and rolling my eyes at him.

 

“None of your goddamn business,” Michael growls. “Go the fuck _away_.”

 

“No,” I repeat. “You’re going to tell me what the deal with this exercising is, and I want an explanation right _now_. You’re obviously in a lot of pain, and you’re just continuing to cause yourself more of it. I thought the self-harming was over with- what happened, Mike?”

 

Michael glowers at me. “You have no place to say that, considering what’s on _your_ arm.”

 

I sigh. “Okay, we all know that I tried to kill myself. That’s not the point here. The point is that you’re pushing yourself beyond your limit, and that’s going to seriously do some damage to your body, if you’re not careful.”

 

“Who fucking cares?” Michael glares at me, his eyes flashing. “I’ll die. Big fucking deal. It’ll be doing everyone a favor.”

 

There it is.

 

That’s exactly what I was afraid of.

 

He’s relapsing.

 

“Michael,” I say. “Why didn’t you say anything? You’re relapsing, aren’t you? It’s all back, isn’t it? The depression, the urge to cut, the suicidal thoughts, they’re all back and haunting you with your every move, right?”

 

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Just leave me to workout in peace.”

 

“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about,” I retort. “So you better start talking, otherwise I’m going straight to Luke and Calum, and trust me, you’d rather talk to me than them, because I actually understand and _won’t_ make a big deal out of it.”

 

…

 

“3 more weeks of pain,” Luke grumbles, as we walk to the car. “My arm hurts.”

 

“I know,” I sigh, opening his door, and making sure he’s in safely, before walking around to get into the driver’s seat. “I know you’re in pain, and god, I know it fucking sucks, but it’s not going to last forever. You just gotta deal with it for three more weeks.”

 

“It keeps swelling and throbbing under the cast, and the sling is fucking annoying,” Luke rants, as I shift the car into drive, and pull out of the parking lot. “Fuck life.”

 

“It’s not forever,” I remind him. “And complaining about it won’t help anything.”

 

Luke sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m just so done with all of this bullshit. I mean, Ash tried to kill himself, Mike’s having some sort of breakdown, and I’m trying to deal with everything, and this broken arm doesn’t help the situation.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” I glance at him, smiling a bit. “We’re all confused as fuck. Mike and Ash are gonna be fine, though. I trust Ash not to try again, and he knows just how to take care of Mikey. He’ll make sure that we don’t lose him.”

 

“We almost lost Ash…” Luke whispers. “And Mikey was the only one who knew anything about how bad his cutting really was.”

 

“We’re going to get through this, Luke,” I repeat, my words empty. I don’t know if we’re going to get through _anything_ , but I can’t let Luke know that. I have to be strong for his sake. And if that means lying to him, so be it. I’m protecting him, you can’t call me out on doing that. “We’re going to be fine.”

 

…

 

I finally managed to coax Mikey off the treadmill, but getting him to eat something is another story entirely. There’s a plate of macaroni and cheese in front of him, but he looks completely uninterested, all his attention on his phone. This is strange, he usually loves anything edible.

 

“Mikey, aren’t you eating?” I ask softly, scooting into the chair beside him.

 

He glances up and shakes his head. “Not hungry. You can have it.”

 

I stare at him. “You just ran for over an hour and you’re not hungry? Bullshit. Eat the pasta.”

 

“I don’t fucking want it,” Michael shoots back, his eyes burning with rage. “Stop trying to force it down my throat!”

 

“I do not give a flying fuck about what you _want_. You _need_ to eat.”

 

“Fuck off, Ashton.”

 

“Don’t tell me to fuck off,” I growl at him. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you, and all you’re doing is being a stubborn dickhead.”

 

Michael snorts. “Stubborn? You’re the stubborn one. I don’t want to eat anything, and you’re so damn _insistent_ on shoving food down my throat.”

 

“Whatever, Michael,” I sigh, rising to my feet and brushing my hands off. “If you don’t want to eat, fine. I won’t force you. If you’re so damn insistent on refusing my help, that’s fine too. But when you do break, don’t come crawling to me. Fuck any chance of me helping you, ever again.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...pretty triggering, self-harm, suicide, eating disorders, and maybe panic disorder? And I used cunt in here once, sorry if that bothers you. Enjoy.

Relapse is almost inevitable after hearing that from Ashton. My wrist is marred with fresh cuts- and the euphoria I got from tearing into my skin mirrored the feeling I used to get about five years ago, when I had just started cutting. I don’t know why I feel the way I do about slicing into my wrists- but the joy is present- and no matter how sick I sound, it keeps me sane.

 

I know I’m being a hypocrite. I’m doing the exact thing I got angry at Ashton for doing- but honestly, this is my only way of coping. I was doing fine, until he said that he’s leaving me. He said he would never help me again. And true to his word- he hasn’t spoken to me since. We still share a room- but it’s like we’re strangers. All he does is sleep in his bed, and then he’s gone when I wake the next morning. He’s seriously done with me, and I can’t take it.

 

I didn’t mean to drive him away. The voice in my head keeps telling me how fat I am, and how I don’t need to eat- and that’s what’s starting to ingrain itself in my mind. I just…don’t think I need to eat anymore. I need to burn off all the calories and fat I’ve already gained- not add more to the mix.

 

Sighing, I shake my head, and slip the blade into my pocket. I rise to my feet, and walk over to where Luke is curled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Plopping down beside him, I press against his body, appreciating how I instantly receive some of his body heat.

 

“Hey, Mikey,” Luke says softly, locking his phone and turning to me.

 

“Hi,” I reply, staring at his broken arm. “Does it hurt?”

 

Luke shakes his head. “It’s just a dull ache. I’ve gotten used to it. But it _does_ itch, and I can’t scratch, and that’s fucking annoying.”

 

“When do you get it off?”

 

“Three weeks,” Luke mumbles.

 

“Damn,” I sigh, before silence falls over us, a sticky blanket draping over the tension in the room.

 

“Mikey?” Luke asks, his voice small.

 

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Can we…maybe cuddle for a while? It’s just…I haven’t slept properly in a while, because of this sling, and…”

 

I smile at him. “You don’t need to ask.” Pulling him against me, I let his back press against my chest, and his head rest on my shoulder, while I wrap my arms around his torso, from behind.

 

“Are you okay?” Luke’s voice breaks the silence, but he’s still staring off into space. “You’ve grown distant.”

 

“I’m just exhausted,” I lie.

 

“I don’t believe you,” Luke retorts. “You’re always downstairs, you’re paler than usual, and you don’t eat with us anymore. What’s going on, Mikey? I just wanna help you. I won’t tell Calum or Ashton if you don’t want me to…but please tell me what’s wrong…”

 

Luke sounds so sad. And I fucking hate that he’s sad because of _me_ , because he doesn’t deserve to waste emotions on a useless fuck up like myself. Sighing, I tighten my grip, pressing my lips to his hair gently. “I’m just…watching what I eat, Lukey. I just want to be in shape, since we’re on tour and all…”

 

“We have a break until tomorrow,” Luke reminds me. “And you’ve never shown interest in working out before…”

 

“I’m just tired of being the fat kid,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I want to have the abs and muscles that you guys have.”

 

Luke stiffens in my arms. “You are _not_ fat, Michael. You have never been fat. And you don’t need abs or muscles to prove that. Ashton and Calum _love_ working out, and I don’t mind it. But you _hate_ it, and I really don’t think you should be forcing yourself to do something you _hate_ , just to satisfy people who probably don’t give a shit about you.”

 

“I’m not trying to satisfy them, Luke. I’m trying to satisfy myself.”

 

…

 

“So, our break is over tomorrow…” Calum mumbles, throwing his head back against the couch. “I want to start playing shows again, but I really don’t want to get the stream of hate we all _know_ is coming.”

 

“We only got this break, because of my suicide attempt,” Ashton replies, hanging his head. “The fans are going to be so disappointed in me.”

 

“Why?” Calum whips his head up and stares at Ashton, eyes wide. “Why would they be disappointed in you? You’ve _saved_ a lot of their lives- they owe you everything. They have no reason to be disappointed in you- when it was that trend that broke you.”

 

“I’m still on board with the idea of destroying the haters,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “Who gave them the right?”

 

“No one,” Luke cuts in. “And you are murdering _no one_. At the concert tomorrow, we’re going to tell the fans that Ashton is fine. We’re also gonna tell them that words hurt, and that’s _it_. No one say a word about what Ashton did.”

 

“It’s gonna be obvious, Luke,” Ashton whispers. “There’s a chance my wrist won’t hold up tomorrow night. I already talked to Josh…he said he’d step in if I can’t…”

 

“What do you mean?” Luke’s eyes go wide, as he stares at Ashton. “Your stitches are healing, aren’t they?”

 

Ashton sighs heavily. “I cut really deep, guys. That’s why I bled so much. The gash almost hit bone, and yeah, the stitches are healing, but my wrist is weak, and banging on the drums like I usually do…it kinda hurts…I don’t know if I’m going to make it through the entire show, and if I don’t, I’m going to get hate, and nothing but that.”

 

“Fuck…” Calum mutters. “I really wish we had another week or so…”

 

“We all do, get over it,” I grumble.

 

“You don’t need to be rude,” Calum retorts, pressing himself into Ashton’s side. “You’ve been acting like a dick ever since Ashton was released from the hospital.”

 

“And? What’s your problem?” I growl. “I’m allowed to be a dick, if I have reasons for it. And why do you care? It’s not like I’ve said anything to you.”

 

“Because all you’re doing is hurting Ashton even more! Isn’t the point _not_ to make him try again?!” Calum cries.

 

“Hey, guys…cool it…” Luke says softly, his eyes wary. “Fighting is gonna get us nowhere.”

 

“I agree with Luke,” Ashton cuts in, his tone low. “Both of you, shut the fuck up.”

 

“No.” Calum glares at me, his eyes looking almost black. “I want to know what the _fuck_ his problem is.”

 

“I _have_ no problem,” I say. “Get off my fucking back.”

 

“Then why have you been such a dick to Ashton?! He tried to kill himself, get the fuck over it! Shouldn’t you be more worried about _why_?! Or are you just gonna be your fucking selfish self and let him try again?!”

 

His words are like a punch to my stomach. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can do is stare, as self-hatred floods my mind like a hurricane. Blaming myself is all I’ve done recently, and Calum has just confirmed everything I think about myself.

 

“Calum.” Ashton’s voice is cold. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

 

Calum straightens, meeting Ashton’s gaze. “Yep.”

 

“Mikey?” Luke’s voice sounds so far away, or maybe it’s just the cold sweat I feel breaking out.

 

“Fuck,” Ashton mutters. He drops to his knees in front of me, taking both my hands in his. “Mikey, you gotta calm down. You’re panicking, calm your breathing down, you’re fine, I promise. Calum is being a cunt, you’re okay.” He glances at Luke, whispering something in his ear, and Luke nods, rising to his feet, and grabbing Calum’s arm. He then proceeds to drag the bassist out of the room, talking to him in an angry whisper.

 

“I-I’m sorry…” I whisper, my mind racing. “I can’t. Can’t breathe…”

 

“You gotta relax,” Ashton says soothingly. “I’m right here, I’m not leaving you.”

 

“You said…said you’d never help me again,” I remind him shakily, gasping and trying to force air into my lungs.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” Ashton replies. “Listen, try to match your breathing to mine. There, that’s it. You’re fine, Mikey, I promise. None of what he said was true.”

 

“I…I’m so sorry,” I whisper, as exhaustion overwhelms me. Ashton shakes his head, reaching up to take me into his arms.

 

“You’re gonna be fine,” he says firmly, kissing the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for self-harm and suicide at the end. And the album is finally out in the US, and god I love it so much and it's fucking beautiful and goddamn I'm so proud of them<3 I'll leave you guys to read, excuse me while I go die over the album five billion more times.

“Come on Mikey, let’s go to bed. You’re tired, I can see it.”

 

Ashton glances at me from his place on the couch. It’s past midnight- and we’re playing Mario Kart 8, because I don’t want to sleep, and Ashton doesn’t want me up alone. He offered to stay up and play Wii with me- who was I to refuse that offer? But he’s right, I’m fucking exhausted- especially since I had that panic attack earlier…but I can’t sleep.

 

Sleeping means nightmares and my nightmares have gotten so much worse in the past few weeks- so much so that I’m fucking scared to go to bed. I don’t want the nightmares- if it means staying up all night and being a zombie tomorrow- or today, if you wanna get technical- I’ll do it.

 

“M’fine,” I murmur, looking lazily at the television screen. “What cup are we doing next?”

 

“None of them,” Ashton replies, shutting the TV off. “We’re gonna go sleep.”

 

“Ashton!” I growl at him in protest, as he pulls me- unwillingly- to my feet. “I’m not fucking tired!”

 

Ashton rolls his eyes. “You normally annihilate me at Mario Kart- yet I was in first place, and you fell off the course at least five times. You’re _exhausted_ , Mikey. Sleep will do you good, and trust me, you need it right now.”

 

“I’m fine,” I protest weakly, as he leads me into our room.

 

Ashton sighs heavily. “Why are you so against this? It’s just _sleeping_ , for god’s sakes. You _love_ to sleep.”

 

“Not when it gives me fucking terrifying nightmares,” I grumble under my breath, hoping he won’t hear me.

 

But somehow, Ashton was blessed with supersensitive hearing. “What was that? You’re having nightmares?”

 

I nod mutely, unable to fight him on it. And maybe having him know is a good thing- he can help me. At this point- I’m desperate. He’s right- I _am_ exhausted, and I would do anything to get rid of these goddamn nightmares, if I could sleep.

 

“Oh, Mikey, why didn’t you say anything…? I could’ve helped you out,” Ashton says softly, bringing me in for a hug. He kisses the top of my head- his protective fatherly instincts coming into play. There are times where we tease him for being so fatherly-like, but there are other times- times like these- where I’m grateful to have someone caring for me and protecting me.

 

“I’m so scared, Ash,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “They’re so scary…and you’re right, I’m so exhausted- to the point it _hurts_ , but I can’t sleep because I’m so scared…”

 

“Hey now, shhh,” Ashton shushes me gently, bringing me closer. “How about I sleep with you tonight?”

 

“That sounded wrong,” I giggle, a small smile making its way onto my features.

 

Ashton’s eyes widen. “You…what the fuck am I gonna do with you?”

 

“Love me,” I say playfully, wrapping my arms around his neck.

 

“But anyway,” Ashton mutters. “Maybe me being there will help.”

 

We get into bed, and he pulls me into his arms, enveloping me with muscle. That boy is all muscle- maybe that’s why his arms are so fucking huge. I bury my face in his chest, and one of his large hands strokes up and down my back, soothing me and causing a arm, fuzzy feeling to drape over my body. I like it- it’s comforting and makes me feel safe. “G’night, Ash,” I mumble sleepily, closing my eyes.

 

“Goodnight, Mikey.” Ashton’s lips touch my head again, and I smile a bit- as sleep overcomes me.

 

…

 

“They’re fucking adorable.”

 

“Well, you may’ve damaged Mikey, and god, I fucking hate you for it, but at least you reunited Mashton.”

 

“I know I’m a dick, stop reminding me every two seconds.”

 

“Both of you shut the fuck up, we’re _trying_ to _sleep_ ,” I grumble groggily, clenching my eyes shut. “Mikey hasn’t slept well in weeks, and if either of you wakes him up…so help me god I will murder you.”

 

“What? About the sleep thing?”

 

I blink open my eyes, wincing at the harsh sunlight, before answering Luke. “He’s been having some pretty fucked up nightmares lately. He’s terrified to sleep, and that’s also a reason as to why he could be so grumpy and pissy. I think he’s actually getting a decent sleep now, so for the love of God, be quiet and let him sleep.”

 

“We have soundcheck at four,” Luke says softly. “Cal and I were thinking pizza for lunch…”

 

“Lunch?”

 

“It’s almost eleven, Ash.”

 

“Fuck…” I mumble, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m just gonna be here. I want to make sure I’m here when he wakes up- otherwise he’ll wake up alone, and I don’t want that.”

 

“He’s not a child.” Calum grumbles.

 

I lift my head up and glare at him. “I don’t think you have any room to talk right now, asshole. You triggered him into a panic attack- he couldn’t fucking _breathe_ yesterday. And the guy is already relapsing, if he wakes up alone, he might think we’ve abandoned him, when we _haven’t_. He really shouldn’t be alone now, considering the thoughts running through his head, and goddamn, if he needs me, I’m gonna be here for him.”

 

“Relapsing?!”

 

“Yeah,” I mutter. “His depression and shit is starting to come back. The suicidal thoughts, feelings of worthlessness, it’s all starting to attack him again. So leave him the fuck _alone_ for the next couple days. Let me handle it- I know how he works, and how to deal with this.”

 

“What about you, Ash?” Luke asks, his voice cracking. “You’re not…gonna try again…are you…?”

 

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m not, I promise- you guys don’t have to worry about that. I need to stay with you all- and I’m going to. You aren’t going to lose me anytime soon, please don’t worry about that.”

 

I beckon Luke over, and he stumbles the two feet toward me, finally coming to a halt beside the bed. Sitting up, I pull him down and into my arms, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head. “I love you, Lukey. And I promise- I will never leave you.”

 

…

 

“You guys ready for this?”

 

Ashton glances at me, Luke, and Calum, drumsticks in hand.

 

I sling my guitar over my neck and nod slightly. “Let’s just get it over with.”

 

“It’s one show, then we’re traveling, so we’ve got like, three days off,” Luke reassures me.

 

“We need that,” Calum mutters, adjusting his bass strap.

 

“Five minutes,” I mutter. “I just…I’m sorry if I don’t seem as excited tonight, I’m really not in a good mood, and I’m gonna try my best, but it’s probably still gonna be shit. Don’t have high expectations.”

 

Luke nods. “We’re all tired, Ash’s wrist is weak, my arm is still in this fucking sling, and I just don’t know about this show in general…”

 

“It’s time,” Calum sighs. “Let’s do it.”

 

…

 

The moment we get offstage, I’m running into my dressing room, and looking desperately for my blade. I need that sharp piece of metal- I need to slice into my skin, because everything just hurts right now, and I don’t know what to fucking do. All I can think about is blood and all I can see is crimson. I don’t think I’ve ever been this dependent on a blade before, but what happened tonight takes the cake.

 

I fucked up the entire show, and I think Luke, Calum, and Ashton hate me. No wonder they do, I hate myself. Maybe I’ll kill myself tonight, who knows?

 

It’s not like anyone would miss me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...so my family made me feel like shit today, so there's the reasoning for the amount of pain Mikey's in this chapter. Anyway- for those of you reading Unwell, the chapter should be up in a couple hours, I'm almost done with it. Trigger warnings- self-harm, depression, suicide, and eating disorders.

I didn’t intend to kill myself. I’m not cutting that deep. I’m just slashing at my wrist- enough to feel the pain and bleed- but not deep enough to die. I don’t want to put any of them through the pain Ashton put me through. But it’s not like they’d care anyways. I really fucked up this time, and I don’t know if I can fix it.

 

I forgot pretty much all the lyrics, screwed up the chords, and my stage presence (or lack thereof) was pathetic. I know I told them not to expect much, but this was seriously awful, and I could tell that they agreed with me by the way that they all walked off after it was over. Not saying a word to me- that was obviously a sign that I seriously fucked everything up.

 

I completely humiliated them, and the hate I’m getting from the fans has reached an all time high. I see what Ashton meant by the hate fucking hurting, and quite damn honestly, I’m sick of it. Goddamn, I’m so weak. Ashton put up with that trend for weeks _, before_ he snapped. There’s nothing trending about me, and I’m already fed up.

 

I’ve just been a mess for a while- even before Ashton started to relapse. Realizing I haven’t been watching my weight took its toll on me- not to mention seeing Ashton’s body, limp on the bathroom floor. I’ve seen a lot of things I really didn’t want to see throughout my life- things that have happened in my past to scar me and make me the mess I am today. These are things the boys don’t even know about, because I’m too ashamed to tell them.

 

Honestly, my past is shit. I really hate even the thought of it- because it traumatized me in every way possible, and it still haunts me today. I know that Ashton, Luke, and Calum have had normal lives- they’ve had the typical childhoods- with loving parents and healthy familial relationships. But that isn’t how it worked for me. You may think my life isn’t so bad- but if you had ever known my past, you’d know how seriously fucked up I am. I didn’t start cutting for no reason.

 

“Michael, the car is here.”

 

Calum’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts- and a stab of pain shoots through my heart at the use of my full name. Calum’s expression is blank- and they _never_ call me Michael. Unless we’re doing interviews and shit, it’s usually Mikey or Mike, and the fact that they’ve resorted back to treating me like an acquaintance really hurts. I guess I’m punishing myself even more tonight.

 

Nodding, I grab my guitar case and backpack, before following Calum out the door. He leads me outside wordlessly, walking at a faster pace than normal so that he doesn’t need to talk to me.

 

I just…don’t understand how he doesn’t realize it hurts. I need comfort- I need reassurance that everything is okay to believe it. I’m a very clingy person, and when relationships are severed- like they are now- the pain that accompanies it burns me more than anything. I hurt so badly, and they don’t fucking care.

 

I guess that confirms my theory of no one caring about me.

 

…

 

The car ride is extremely awkward, and I just feel like disappearing. Or dying, maybe that would be better. I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt further body, hugging my arms to my body and staring out the window. I’m sitting next to Ashton, but there’s a space in the middle-, which he’d usually be in. Silence drapes over the car stickily, and I can feel them glaring at me, making me shrink, attempting to curl further into myself.

 

“Well, Ashton and I are going to have to do damage control, after how goddamn _shitty_ you did tonight,” Calum snarls, his words coated in venom. Luke winces and places his good hand on Calum’s arm- but the bassist thinks nothing of it, continuing to glare at me while Ashton nods in turn.

 

“We’ve made a lot of allowances for you, Michael, but you embarrassed us tonight. I mean, I get it if you forget a couple lyrics to _one_ song, but most of the lyrics to _all_ of them? That’s pathetic, and frankly, it seemed like it was your _intention_ to fuck this up for us.”

 

I don’t have anything to say in response- but their words hurt so fucking much- I’m _begging_ for a blade right now. I need to slice into my skin and feel the pain that comes with it. Feel the burning sensation as a punishment for screwing everything up- I’m just a fuck-up- it wouldn’t matter if I died. Everyone is so damn insistent on me staying alive- but _why_?

 

I just don’t understand why I have to do this anymore. I’d give anything for a cuddle with Luke, a hug from Ashton, or Calum’s reassurance that he loves me- but I doubt I’m going to be seeing/hearing that anytime soon. More pain for me. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m used to it.

 

…

 

“Don’t you think we’re being a little too hard on Mikey?”

 

Calum shakes his head- eyes dark with anger. “He completely fucked up, and the guy’s been acting like a dick for a while now.”

 

“He did have reason for it, but…I just…I’m sick of his shit,” Ashton mutters.

 

I sigh heavily, sliding out of my sling, and stretching my arm out, tossing the fabric onto the couch. “I’m gonna go get some ice. My fingers are swelling up again.”

 

After retrieving the icepack from the refrigerator, I take a seat on the couch, icing my fingers and allowing my body to relax. It’s been a long, stressful couple of days, and I just need some time to myself. Time to just sleep, or watch TV- shut my mind off for a couple hours, because I’m getting really stressed, and it’s affecting me in a negative way.

 

Ashton plots down beside me, his body radiating warmth. I curl into his side immediately, leaning my head on his shoulder, and he wraps that arm around me, squeezing me and pulling me closer, dropping a kiss on the side of my head.

 

“You okay, Lukey?”

 

I shake my head. “Not really…”

 

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Ashton says softly. “We all are.”

 

“Mikey is,” I mumble. “We’re being _awful_ to him.”

 

“Let’s not talk about him.” Ashton pulls me closer. “I’m worried about you, Lukey…”

 

“I’m just…physically and mentally drained, Ash…” I sigh. “I need a break. We all need a break. We’ve had time off because of your y’know…but it wasn’t enough. Mikey did shitty today because he’s sleep-deprived, and you said it yourself- he’s relapsing. All he can think about is suicide, and god, I hate how badly you and Calum treated him.”

 

“Michael needs to learn to man up,” Ashton says calmly. “There are some problems that only need time- and he needs to realize that making a fool out of himself in public is not going to get him the attention he’s craving.”

 

I flinch, pulling away from him and glaring at him. “He isn’t _doing_ it for attention! He’s seriously falling apart! God fucking dammit, Ashton, I thought _you_ of all people, would _understand_ his situation and be a little more sympathetic to what he’s going through, but I guess not.”

 

…

 

I increase the speed on the treadmill, wincing as the pain in my stomach grows. Running faster hurts so much more, but I know I have to do it. I need to lose the weight- I’m too fucking fat for everyone. They need me to be perfect- and I need to satisfy them. If that means going to great lengths to change my body- then so be it. I’ll do anything to be perfect- if it means that the comments and hate will just stop.

 

Sweat drips down my face, as my wet shirt makes contact with my skin. I hike the volume up on my phone- hoping that the sound of Sleeping With Sirens will drown out the sound of my heavy breathing.

 

I’m just in so much pain, and I hate the exercising and the starving and the cutting and the depression and suicidal thoughts- but I guess…this is the price of fame. And this was my dream- to become famous and play in a band- and I guess this is the price I have to pay for it. Cutting, starving, exercising, and the relapse into depression and my reacquaintance with the thoughts of suicide.

                                                                                                      


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit shorter than usual, but I had to end it where I did. You'll see why at the end. Enjoy. And heavy trigger warning for suicide and depression.

I walk into Michael and Ashton’s room, eyes wide when I see the green-haired lad lying on his bed. “Mikey?”

 

Michael lifts his head, and I feel my heart break. His face is red- cheeks flushed, and I can hear him breathing heavily from the doorway. “Yeah?”

 

“You look awful, Mike…what the hell happened…?”

 

“M’fine. Just got done running.”

 

“You look like you just ran a marathon, Mikey…”

 

Michael groans. “I feel like shit. I just need to sleep. Can you go, please…?”

 

He still looks pretty freaked of me- and I fucking hate that what Calum and Ashton did has damaged him so badly. Another muffled groan escapes him, and I sit down on the edge of the bed, grabbing his hand. He’s still pretty sweaty, but what concerns me is how red is face is- it looks like he might be coming down with something.

 

I reach out to him with my good hand, and he flinches back, eyes wide with trepidation and fear.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say softly. “You look like you’re getting sick…”

 

“Don’t yell…” Michael whispers. “I can’t take any more…”

 

“I’m not going to, Mikey. I don’t agree with what Ashton and Calum said, I really don’t. Can you try and relax for me?”

 

Michael still looks wary, but nods all the same. When I reach out to him this time, he flinches- but allows me to feel his forehead. I pull my hand back as soon as I touch his head- staring at him with wide eyes. He’s burning up. The flushed cheeks and red face are due to a fever, not his extreme gym workout.

 

“You have a fever,” I sigh. “You’re ill, Mikey…”

 

“M’not ill. Just tired,” he mumbles.

 

“You _are_ ill,” I repeat. “You have a fever, you look exhausted, and I can tell that you’re in a lot of pain.”

 

“Feel pretty shitty…”

 

“I’ll bet.” I force a smile. “Why don’t you actually get _into_ bed? I’ll go get a thermometer, we’ll see if we need to medicate you yet…”

 

Michael sighs and nods, slipping under the covers and pulling them up over his head. I pat his bed-clad legs, before getting up and going into the bathroom. Grabbing the thermometer from the bathroom, I move to walk out of the bathroom, but Ashton blocks my exit.

 

“What’s that for?” he asks suspiciously, glancing at the device in my hand.

 

“None of your business,” I mutter.

 

“You’re not sick, and neither is Cal…”

 

“We have a fourth member, you fucking dick,” I growl. “Or does Mikey not matter any more?! I think that the _real_ reason he fucked up the performance- is because he was _ill_. The poor thing is burning up, and he does not need this from you.”

 

“He’s sick?”

 

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Now, let me _go_. If you two don’t wanna take care of him, that doesn’t mean _I_ can’t.”

 

“Your arm’s broken, Luke.”

 

“At least I’m not the one with the fucked up head.”

…

 

“Cal?”

 

Calum glances at me, eyebrow raised, and I sigh. “I think we fucked up.”

 

“How so?” He mutters, motioning for me to sit beside him. He mutes the TV, turning to face me.

 

“According to Luke, Mikey has a fever. That’s probably why he was shit at the show.”

 

“He was ill?”

 

I nod, and Calum’s eyes widen. “Shit…I had no idea…if he was ill, that’s a different story entirely…”

 

“We’re horrible people,” I mutter, leaning back against the couch and closing my eyes. “We said some _terrible_ things to him, things we would’ve never even _thought_ to say…”

 

“We’re just…seriously fucking awful people…” Calum whispers. “I can’t believe we did that to him…”

 

“At least Luke was sensible enough to not follow us and gang up against Mike.”

 

“We need to fix this,” Calum mutters.

 

“How?”

 

“I don’t know. But we’ll find a way.”

…

 

“Damn. 103.2. You’re definitely ill, Mikey.”

 

“Ugh…” I groan, pulling the covers over my face. “I feel like I just got hit by a bus.”

 

“Just try to sleep, alright?”

 

“Lay with me,” I mumble, pulling on his arm. “I’m lonely.”

 

Luke sighs. “You’re a goddamn handful, you idiot.”

 

“You love me,” I remind him, as he takes his sling off.

 

Grumbling to himself, Luke slides in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I can feel the material of his cast against my stomach, as he tightens his hold on my body. He rests his chin on top of my head, and I smile, curling against him.

 

“Thank you, Luke…” I whisper. “For not hating me like Ash and Cal do…”

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Luke tells me gently, sighing as I shake my head. “Seriously Mikey, you’re ill, you were sleep-deprived, and it isn’t easy to perform with depression and suicide running through your mind. You did fine.”

 

“I fucked it all up, Luke. I deserve whatever Calum and Ashton are saying. I’m just the fuck up of this band…”

 

“Mikey, you don’t mean that,” Luke whispers, his shock seeping into his words. I didn’t think he’d react any differently. I mean, how _do_ you react to being told your best friend thinks of himself as a fuck up?

 

“I don’t know what I mean anymore, Luke. I just wish I could end all of this bullshit. I fucking hate life. I’m seriously fucking done.” Luke stiffens, his arms tightening around me.

 

“Are you saying you want to off yourself?” Luke’s voice breaks on the last word, his tears lacing his tone.

 

My silence is enough of an answer for him. Luke swallows hard, pressing a kiss to my hair. “M-Mikey…you can’t…”

 

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything,” I mumble. “I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t _thought_ about it.”

 

“But…I need you, Mikey…we all do…you can’t die on us, you fucking can’t. We’d never be the same without you. I love you, and god, I don’t know what the hell I’d do if you were gone…”

 

“Really?” I growl. “Then why are Ashton and Calum being such fucking _dicks_ to me?! What the fuck have I done to deserve this?! You guys ask for way too much, and when I try to give you everything, you still aren’t satisfied. The fans don’t think I’m enough, management doesn’t think I’m enough, and now _you guys_ , the ones who’ve supported me through _everything_ , don’t think I’m good enough. It fucking _hurts_ , okay?! And you should consider yourself fucking lucky, Luke. Do you know how fucking _traumatized_ I still am from watching Ashton almost _die_?! You didn’t go in that goddamn ambulance, Luke. I did. And I watched that fucking heart monitor fucking flatline. They brought him back, they resuscitated him, but I fucking watched our fucking _brother_ die. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover from seeing it.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me. You'll see why at the end of the chapter.

Once Mikey finally drifts off, I pull away from him and walk out of the room, grabbing my sling on the way out. I need to compose myself- I was just told that he’s suicidal again- that he’s traumatized from the past few weeks, that he’s hurting himself to please _us_ , and he still doesn’t think it’s enough. It’s a lot to swallow- and I barely managed to hold myself together while he fell asleep. I sure as hell wasn’t planning on leaving him before that.

 

After I put my sling on, I walk into the living room and plop down on the unoccupied couch, paying no attention to Ashton or Calum. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my Twitter feed, reading all the tweets of love that people have sent me. I need to distract myself. I’ll worry about Mikey after I calm myself down.

 

“Luke?”

 

“Don’t talk to me,” I say tightly, silencing Calum with one sentence.

 

“Okay, I get that you’re pissed at us, but…”

 

“Shut up,” I mutter. “I’m trying not to scream at you both right now, and you’re making that quite difficult.”

 

“We know we were wrong, you don’t need to remind us for the billionth time,” Calum grumbles. “We fucked up, we get it. Ash and I are already figuring out ways to fix it.”

 

“That’s not enough!” I raise my voice, glaring at them. “You guys have no fucking idea how damaged Michael is. You have no fucking _clue_ how negatively he thinks of himself, and the bullshit you said has just made it _worse_! He relapsed, just like Ashton said! And Ashton, he watched you fucking _die_ in that ambulance. Our brother watched your fucking heart monitor fucking flatline!”

 

“ _What?!_ ” Calum stares at me, his tone rising with worry. “What the _fuck_?!”

 

Ashton’s face has paled drastically, and I sigh. “Ash, you died in that ambulance. They resuscitated you, but you _did_ flatline, and Michael saw the entire thing. _That’s_ why he was so pissed at you. _That’s_ why he can’t sleep at night. _That’s_ why he hates himself. He blames himself for it- he let you fucking die on his watch and didn’t do shit, that’s what he thinks. It’s far from the truth, but it’s what he thinks, and you’re just yelling at him. He was fucking _scared_ of me to begin with- he thought I was going to yell at him just like you two. He flinched back when I tried to feel his forehead, and god fucking dammit, that boy is burning up with a 103.2 fever!” I relax my breathing, chest heaving painfully. “You broke him. And I don’t know if you can fix it.”

 

…

 

When I wake again, a warm body is lying next to me. I blink wearily, my eyes widening. Way too muscular for it to be Luke.

 

 _Ashton_.

 

Immediately, I squirm away, not wanting to be yelled at again. I can’t deal with it right now. I feel awful, my head hurts, and my brain is fog. Ashton doesn’t know I’m awake, so maybe I can slip out and go sleep in Luke’s bed before he notices…

 

“Hey, Mikey.”

 

My blood runs cold, a frigid sweat washing over me as my head snaps toward him. He’s looking at me without malice in his gaze- but looks can be deceiving.

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Don’t yell at me. I’ll go, I can sleep in Luke and Calum’s room.”

 

Ashton’s face softens. “I’m not going to yell, Mikey. I came to apologize. You have no fucking _idea_ how sorry I am. I love you more than anything, and you _definitely_ didn’t deserve any of the bullshit I said. Honestly- I hate myself for saying it- and even if you forgive me, I always will. You don’t have to forgive me- what I said was utterly disgusting, and I know I can’t take it back, but just know that I’m sorry. I’m more sorrier than anything. I love you, Michael, you’re my brother.”

 

His apology strikes a chord within me. Considering everything he’s said, I don’t know if I can trust him yet. He _does_ sound sincerely sorry, but…I’ve learned that trusting too easily leads to broken promises and broken hearts in the end. “I…I don’t know if I can trust you yet, but I forgive you, Ash…”

 

Ashton’s eyes brighten. He smiles and opens his arms. “Hug?”

 

I nod, scooting into his embrace and heaving a sigh of relief.

 

“God, Mikey, you’re burning up…”

 

“I feel like shit,” I say weakly, allowing my head to flop onto his shoulder. He holds me tightly, slipping his hand underneath my shirt to rub my back soothing.

 

“That feels good,” I murmur. “Can you do that until I fall asleep?”

 

“Yeah, sure, Mikey. Hang on, let’s get into a better position…” Ashton ends up moving us into a position where he’s spooning me, arms wrapped around my waist. Once we’re settled, he lifts my shirt up, and begins to rub my back again, the massage feeling wonderful against my aching muscles.

 

“Thanks, Ash…”

 

“No problem,” Ashton says softly. “Go to sleep, you look like you need it.”

 

True to his words, my eyes drift shut in the next few minutes, and the feeling of his large hands rubbing my back makes me even sleepier. Exhausted, darkness overcomes my body, as sleep takes me away once more.

 

…

 

“You okay to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

 

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’m not an invalid, thanks. I’ll walk just fine.” He gets to his feet wobbling unsteadily, but regaining his footing soon enough. With a nod to him, I lead him out of our room, and into the living room, where Luke is sitting and watching TV.

 

“Mikey!” Luke gets up and comes over to us as soon as he catches sight of Michael, eyes narrowed in concern. “Did you say anything to him?”

 

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I apologized. He forgave me. And then he fell asleep while I rubbed his back. That’s what happened. That’s _all_ that happened. I didn’t say anything, I promise.”

 

“It’s okay,” Michael says hoarsely. “But…I need to sit down…I’m nauseous…”

 

“Shit, yeah,” I curse, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leading him to the couch. I sit down next to him and let him curl into me- allowing him to absorb as much body heat as possible.

 

“Where’s Cal?” Michael mumbles.

 

“I dunno, he left about an hour ago,” I reply. “Didn’t say where he was going, but he looked pretty pissed.”

 

Michael nods in response, resting his head on my shoulder. Luke flicks the TV off, sitting on Michael’s other side and pressing to him.

 

“I’m cold,” Michael whines. “I need a hundred blankets.”

 

“Your fever is sky high, we can’t heat it right now,” I say apologetically. “Luke’s and my body heat will have to do for now.”

 

Michael groans. “Fuck being ill. I hate this.”

 

“We know, you told us,” Luke replies. “Just get some rest. You’ll feel better soon.”

 

“Ugh…”

 

The phone rings- the loud noise startling Michael out of his sleepy state. He winces and flops back onto me, as Luke jumps up to answer the phone.

 

“Shhh, why don’t you lay your head on my lap?” I suggest, helping him to lay down horizontally. “You’ll feel better soon.”

 

Michael nods and closes his eyes. “Don’t leave me…”

 

This is normal for him- Michael is naturally clingy and very cuddly. He likes to cling to me, mainly, because of how our cuddles go. I guess he likes it when I hold him? I dunno, I’m not exactly sure, but he really loves the cuddling aspect of things.

 

“Guys?”

 

I turn my head, and my eyes widen when I see Luke. He’s clutching the phone tightly, his face deathly pale. I can see him visibly shaking from here, and I know something is definitely wrong.

 

“What’s wrong, Luke? Who was on the phone?”

 

“The hospital. Calum was in a car accident.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, wow, I just realized that I didn't post the full chapter. There's a lot more than that. Anyway, here's the full thing, sorry about the confusion.

“WHAT?!”

I lift my head off Ashton’s lap and sit straight up, staring at Luke. “What the fuck?!”

Luke’s chest heaves. “I don’t know any details, he’s still in surgery, but we need to get to the hospital. He was rushed into the ER for immediate surgery as soon as he was brought in…”

“Fucking…” 

I can barely breathe right now. It’s bad enough that my mind is playing tricks on me because of fever, but now one of my brothers is in the hospital. Even though I was pissed at him, I didn’t want anything like this to happen. I still love him, I love him so fucking much.

Luke looks absolutely wrecked- shaking visibly, his face a ghostly white. He’s closest to Calum- he’s definitely going to be the most shattered. When Ashton was in the hospital, even though I was angry, I was also fucking terrified. I get what Luke’s going through right now. 

“Come on, I’ll drive,” Ashton says, his words lacking any type of emotion. He grabs the car keys and wraps an arm around Luke’s shoulders, glancing back at me. “Are you okay to walk out to the car on your own?”

I nod, and he leads Luke out the door, following and locking it.

…

“Calum Hood?”

The receptionist glances at us, shifting her eyeglasses down to the bridge of her nose. “And you are?”

“We’re his bandmates,” I say. “You called us and told us to come down here.”

“Ah, yes, alright,” she says. She types something on her computer, and then looks back at us. “He’s still being operated on. When the doctors are done, I’ll let one of them know you guys are here. For now, you can take a seat in the waiting room.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, steering Luke and Michael away from the desk before Luke can open his mouth to yell at her.

“That wasn’t helpful,” Luke grumbles. “I wanna fucking see Cal.”

“He’s in surgery, Lukey,” Michael murmurs. “It’ll be a while. We just need to sit and wait.”

Luke sighs and takes his sling off as we slump into waiting room chairs. He crosses his arms over his chest, pouting, and Mikey leans his head on his shoulder.

I exhale. “I need some air, guys. I’ll be back in a few minutes…I just…can’t deal with all of this right now…”

I rise to my feet and walk out of the waiting room, not bothering to wait for their reactions. Sighing to myself, I walk all the way out of the hospital until I come to a bench. Plopping down on it, I sit with my head in my hands for a few minutes, until I end up pulling a blade out of my pocket and staring at the gleaming piece of metal.

…

“I’m gonna go after him,” I say.

Luke glances at me, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“Because Ashton beats himself up over things he can’t control. I’m guessing he’s probably blaming himself for this as well.”

“How is that fucking possible?!” Luke raises his voice. “He had nothing to do with it.”

“It’s just the way Ashton is,” I reply softly. “I’m going to go talk to him. I’m worried about him…we haven’t really gotten the chance to talk after the numerous fights and arguments and then my own shit distracted me from giving my attention to him.”

“You sure? You’re still ill…”

I sigh. “I’m fine, Lukey. It’s just a fever, I’m not gonna die.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Luke hisses, sitting straight up and glaring at me. “Not after what you told me yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Just…if there’s any news on Cal, text me, alright? Hopefully Ash will be with me when I come back.”

…

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

I look up, into Michael’s piercing emerald eyes, as he stares at me. His gaze is fixated on the blade in my palm- and his complexion is a few shades paler- that’s pretty white, even for him. 

“Mikey, you’re sick, go back inside,” I mutter. 

“Pfft. Not until you tell me why you’re about to put that into your skin.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Really?” Michael says bitterly. “You weren’t planning to slice that blade into your skin, watch the blood pour out, and smile to yourself? Fucking bull.”

“Michael.” My voice holds a warning note- he’s starting to make me want the blade even more- especially by his vivid description of cutting. I’m so used to it being my release, and quite honestly- I need it to survive. He doesn’t know it- neither do Luke or Calum- but I’m still cutting. Attempting suicide and narrowly avoiding death has done nothing to make me stop- because I rely on the blade so much.

Michael takes a seat beside me, and I can feel him press close into my side, trying to leech as much warmth from me as possible. 

“Ash, tell me you’re not blaming yourself for this.”

“Then I’d be lying,” I say truthfully, looking down at the sidewalk. I notice an ant colony a few inches from my foot, and focus my attention on that- just so I don’t have to look at Michael, because he’ll break me if I look into his eyes. 

“Before I say anything about that,” Michael says softly. “I’m taking this.” He grabs the blade out of my open palm, and slips it into my pocket, making rage flare up in my veins. I turn and glare at him- eyes burning with anger.

“What the fuck, Michael?! I need that fucking blade, and you’re being a fucking hypocrite!” 

“Just because I cut, doesn’t mean you have to,” Michael replies. “You’re not getting it back.”

“Fuck you.”

“Say whatever you want, Ash. As long as it keeps you from hurting yourself, I’ll do anything for you. You’ll thank me later, trust me. You don’t want to do this to yourself.”

“You have no fucking idea what I want to do to myself, Michael,” I say shortly. “Death is all I can think about, and honestly? This is just pushing me closer to the edge. If Calum dies, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

Michael’s eyes widen. He forces me to look into his eyes, and when he speaks next, his voice is icy. “Calum fucking Hood is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. He will pull through. He knows how much we need him, and he is not going to die on us. Don’t tell me you have that little faith in our brother, because he’s strong, and he will make it. And so will you. I am going to make sure you never try to kill yourself, ever again. And I’m not asking for your permission.”

…

“Calum Hood?”

I stand, helping Michael up, and watching as Ashton stands beside him. We walk over to the doctor, and I wince at the blood spots on his blue scrubs. Something tells me this is not going to be good- I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

“How is he?” I ask, my voice hoarse and cracking. 

He glances up from his clipboard and sighs, holding out a hand to Ashton- only fitting, Mikey looks awfully ill and one of my arms is in a sling. Ashton shakes it, before the man speaks. “I’m Josh Simmons, me and one of my partners operated on Calum. I’m sorry to say that his injuries were not minor- he was hit head-on by a car driven by a drunk driver. The guy was going at least ten miles above the speed limit, and slammed into Calum’s car.”

The pit feeling grows, as he continues. “He sustained a concussion, which we are monitoring to avoid possible brain damage. Along with that- his right leg is broken, his left arm is broken, and he’s bruised about five ribs. We’re monitoring him very closely- making sure there’s no internal bleeding or anything we missed. Additionally, there are some stitches in various places throughout his body- there was a lot of glass in his face and torso/stomach area.”

And when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Doctor Simmons pauses, before adding.

“He’s in a coma, guys.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to love cliffhangers...and I'll probably get killed at the end, but...

Michael collapses.

 

His deadweight falls onto Luke, but the tall blonde is obviously not strong enough to hold him up. He looks at me helplessly, and I nod, lifting Michael into my arms and holding him bridal style against my chest. He’s burning up, and I can feel his heart beating strongly against his chest- he just fainted.

 

“Is he alright? Do we need to admit him?” Doctor Simmons asks slowly, eyes wide.

 

“He’s just ill,” Luke mutters. “And we’ve all been stressed lately, I think it just got to him. He should be fine.”

 

“Let me know if his condition worsens, we _can_ admit him. If you’d like to see Mr. Hood, he’s in Room 693. Disregard visiting hours, as we’ve made an exception for you guys- and if he shows any signs of waking up, press the call button on the remote beside his bed. I’m sorry for the unfortunate news, guys, I hope your friend regains consciousness soon.”

 

And with that, he walks off toward the receptionists’ area, leaving Luke and I to glance at each other, as I shift Michael’s body in my arms.

 

“Let’s go see him,” I say hesitantly, as I begin to follow Luke down a series of hallways, until we come to Calum’s room. Luke pushes open the door, trepidation in his eyes- and it’s not until I see Calum’s lifeless body- that I understand the full affects of the accident.

 

He looks awful.

 

…

 

There are tubes and wires everywhere I look. A machine next to his bed is emitting some artificial replication of breathing…and that’s when I realize that our brother isn’t even fucking _breathing_ on his own. This is bad. Really bad.

 

Calum looks so pale- lifeless. His eyes are shut, and there is tubing in his nose. I have to squint to see the rise and fall of his chest- and I know that he’s barely breathing- the fucking machine is doing most of it for him. And the mere sight shatters my heart- seeing my brother, _our_ brother- in a fucking _coma_ …it just breaks me inside. I have no idea what to do now. It’s impossible to function without Calum.

 

Ashton has taken to sitting down, holding Michael in his lap and just staring at the hospital bed, unable to take his eyes off our broken brother. Ashton tends to be emotionless on the outside, so right now- I have no fucking clue what he’s feeling, and the fact that he could be blaming himself for this is terrifying me.

 

“Wha…?”

 

“Mikey?” My attention is immediately snatched, as Ashton and I stare at the green-haired lad on his lap.

 

“What happened…?” Michael mumbles, sitting up and looking confusedly at Ashton. “Why was I on you…?”

 

“You passed out, Mikey,” Ashton tells him softly. “I think it was the news, combined with how high your fever was- and still is…take it easy for the next couple hours, bro. You fucking scared us. We don’t need another one of us in the hospital…”

 

Michael’s eyes widen, as he takes in our surroundings, his face paling. “I thought that was a dream…Cal…no…I thought that was a dream or a hallucination…he’s not really comatose, is he…?”

 

Sighing at the heartbroken look on his face, I nod grimly. “He is, Mikey…but he’s gonna wake up. He’s gonna come out of this, I promise.”

 

“How do you know?” Michael says bitterly. “I _was_ optimistic, until I saw him. He’s gonna fucking die, and I never got the fucking chance to tell him I forgave him. He’s gonna die thinking I fucking hate him.”

 

“Michael…”

 

“Don’t,” Michael mutters. “I’m going for a walk.”

 

“You just fainted, you should rest,” Ashton murmurs. “We’ll leave you alone, but…”

 

“No. I need to be by myself. I’m going. I’ll be fine.” Michael rises to his feet, and without a last glance to either of us, opens the door, and walks out.

 

…

 

“Should one of us go after him?” Luke asks sullenly, picking at his sling.

 

“I’ll go,” I tell him softly. “Sit with Cal. Talk to him.”

 

“What’s the fucking point?” Luke grumbles. “He won’t be able to hear me, and I don’t want to cry.”

 

“They say that people in comas can usually hear what’s going on around them. Just talk. He’ll listen. You can tell him anything. You’ve definitely been hiding shit from me and Mikey, and that’s okay, but maybe tell Cal?”

 

Luke sighs. “I dunno, Ash. Talking to a comatose person?”

 

“Try it,” I repeat. “It can’t hurt.”

 

“I guess you’re right…”

 

Forcing a smile, I pull him into a hug, squeezing him tightly and pressing my lips to his hair. “Love you, Lukey. Just relax; everything is going to be fine. Cal’s gonna be alright, Mikey’s gonna be alright, and I’m working on recovering…”

 

“What about me?” Luke’s lower lip trembles. “What if I’m not alright?”

 

…

 

My thoughts reeling with the added worry over Luke, I walk out of the hospital building, my eyes searching for Michael. There’s a short trail off to the side…maybe he went down there? He likes to take walks when he needs to think, so that’s probably where he is. I need to follow him, just make sure he’s alright and won’t do anything to hurt himself. I love him too much for that.

 

Starting down the trail, I let my mind wander to Luke. What did he mean? He’s not okay? Why has he been hiding it from us for so long? Even when Mikey broke, he didn’t even think to tell us about his own mental state. Cal, Mikey, and I have been through some pretty rough shit…and we’ve kinda been…neglecting…him. I think I see where he’s coming from on this. We haven’t paid him much attention lately, and I think the deprivation is starting to get to him.

 

Luke is the baby of our band. He’s two years younger than me, and I consider him a little brother. Taking care of him is one of the top things on my priority list, but when Mikey needs me, he usually tends to come first…Cal usually takes care of Luke. I’m not sure what went wrong this time- maybe it was the fact that both Cal and I fucked up and Luke was pissed at both of us?

 

Either way, Luke’s not okay. He’s just…different. Much quieter than normal, usually losing himself in his music. He’s kinda drifted away lately, and I’m just now realizing it. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out, but I’m seriously regretting my ignorance right now. My baby brother is fucking suffering, and I didn’t even notice until he flat-out _told_ me he wasn’t okay. What kind of older brother does that make me? A shitty one, that’s for sure.

 

I just…I wonder when things got this bad. I wonder when things got this fucked up, that we’re afraid to confide in each other and lashing out at each other left and right. I miss the way we used to be…

 

What I see before me, halts me in my tracks, pulling me out of my thoughts and making my eyes go wide. “M-Michael…?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no cliffhanger this time, but this chapter will undoubtedly break your heart into pieces. It hurt me, and I'm the one who wrote it. And it may seem short but it's over 1,300 words, and the last scene has a lot of wordy paragraphs- it seems shorter than it actually is. Additionally, Luke does talk in third person in the last paragraph, but it is still him talking- you'll understand it when you get to it. Enjoy.

Michael is standing on a small bridge- overlooking a downtrodden river, staring at the rushing water. But the thing that alarms me is the four bleeding cuts on his left wrist, and _my_ blade in his right hand. He took my blade so he could use it on himself? Is he fucking kidding me?!

 

“Michael, what the _fuck_?!” I exclaim, stepping over to him, and reaching for the piece of sharp metal. When my arm gets close enough, he slaps it away, curling further in on himself but still refusing to acknowledge me.

 

“Give me the fucking blade, god fucking dammit,” I curse, reaching for the blade again.

 

“No.” Michael’s voice is cold, his gaze on the water below us. “Go away, Ashton.”

 

“You’re really a goddamn hypocrite, aren’t you?” I growl. “Taking the blade from me, only to use it on your own skin. That’s fucking selfish of you. I needed that and you fucking knew it. I bet you never cared if I’d cut, all you wanted was to take that blade so you could use it for your own fucking selfish needs.”

 

“I am _not_ selfish!” Michael whips his head around to look at me, eyes dark and cold, burning into my skull.

 

“Oh? Explain to me how you _aren’t_ , then.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean, Michael?! It’s simple, tell me how you aren’t selfish for taking my blade and using it to cut your own skin.”

 

Michael exhales. “I don’t know how to tell my best friend that all I want right now is to slice this blade deep into my arm and run it all the way down, deep enough that it’ll kill me easily- leaving the doctors unable to do anything to save me. You say you’re far down and suicidal and depressed, but have you ever thought about how fucking broken _I_ am? I’m sorry, Ash. I may not be as coherent right now- because of the fever- but I do know that I want to die, and using your blade was the only thing keeping me from jumping off this bridge. I didn’t want to. I didn’t intend to. I’m sorry I had to. But I’m not sorry I did. Quite honestly- would you rather me use your blade to cut, or jump off this bridge and end up _drowning_?”

 

…

 

I sigh heavily, staring at Calum’s body and grabbing his limp hand in mine. Lifting it up to my lips, I kiss his skin gently, waiting for a response but obviously receiving nothing. Pain erupts in my chest, and I don’t even notice that I’m crying until I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t believing this is happening right now- I can’t believe I’m sitting here and crying and pleading for my _comatose_ brother to wake up. Any amount of pleading won’t help anything. It’s all up to him, now.

 

“Cal?” I whimper, my tears evident in my voice. “Cal, please…you gotta pull through this, you _gotta_ … I need you… I’m so sorry that this happened to you, you don’t deserve any of it…”

 

He lays motionless, eyes tightly shut, and the tears pour down my face faster. The ache in my arm is growing, and I don’t know whether it’s an affect of the emotional pain, or something getting worse. Either way, that’s the least of my worries. I’d rip my entire arm off if it just meant that Calum would wake up and be okay. I need him to survive. He’s what Ashton is to Michael- he’s my lifeline and my only reason. I really do love him- as a brother- but so fucking much.

 

“Cal, if you can hear me…” I whisper, my voice cracking on the least word. “If you can hear me…I just want you to know that I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry for icing you out. I was just really angry about what you said to Mikey, but he forgives you, and so do I. I hate that this had to happen with you thinking I hated you, because I _don’t_. I could _never_ hate you- you’re the only reason I have to live anymore. And I know that hearing this is going to shock you and quite possibly terrify you- that’s why I’m telling you this now. I don’t want to live like this- not knowing if Ashton or Michael are okay, having to sit in a corner and forget about my problems because they’re more important…I just…I can’t do it anymore.”

 

Shaking my head, I let go of his hand and reach up to swipe angrily at my eyes. I’m eighteen, not some fucking child. Why am I crying like a baby?

 

“I…I’ve been hiding a lot from you, Cal…remember how bad my anxiety and depression used to be? Well, it’s coming back. The anxiety was triggered by what Ashton and Michael have done to themselves- I worry about them 24/7- it’s even affecting my sleep. I’m exhausted and my mind won’t fucking _shut up_ , and it’s really pissing me off and stressing me out. I just really wish I could lie in your arms, and you could hold me like old times. You’d tell me everything was going to be okay and wipe my tears away and god…I needed that. It helped so much. And then we started drifting a bit- I got closer to Mikey, and you, to Ash…and I don’t know, it felt like a part of me was missing.”

 

“I miss you so much,” I sob. “And you know the saying, ‘you never realize what you have, until it’s gone’? I never realized how much I relied on you, Cal. You’re my world- and I may not be in love with you- but you’re the biggest motivation and inspiration for me. I love you. I need you. I want you with me.” My chest heaves, as another choked sob bubbles up my throat. “I want your arms around me, I want your words of comfort, I want you to promise me we’ll all be okay. I want you to be fucking alive, god fucking dammit. I’m so sorry, Calum…”

 

Shaking, I feel my chest tighten, as my breath hitches. Calum always knew exactly how to calm me down, how to get my anxiety under control. He was the only one that did- hell, Ashton and Michael don’t know I _have_ anxiety. I made Calum promise not to tell them. I need him. They don’t know anything- he’s the only one that does. He’s the only one that can make me feel okay again. I need to feel okay again.

 

“I’m praying to whoever is fucking _up there_ , please send my Calum back to me. I’m sorry for not appreciating him when he was with me- but I really fucking need him now. I need him to hold me and cuddle me and calm me down when I have panic attacks and reassure me that I’m going to be okay. I need him to help me escape from the world of Michael and Ashton’s problems because I’m Luke and I have problems too and he was the only one who ever fucking gave a damn about them. I’m sorry for everything- all the shit I’ve done in my life that was horrible or wrong or anything- I just need Calum back. I’m sorry for being a disgraceful person- if this is my punishment…I’m just…I think I’ve learned my lesson… Please just…send my brother back to me. I need him and I love him and sometimes Luke just needs to cry and tell someone he isn’t okay because Michael and Ashton aren’t the only ones with problems and maybe I want to kill myself too but Calum is the only one that cares because Michael and Ashton are too busy dealing with being Michael and Ashton and maybe Luke just wants someone that cares about him and _only_ him. Is that a fucking crime?”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important author's note at the end- please read.

It’s been two weeks since Calum was declared comatose, and he’s showing no improvement. The signs of brain activity are not very evident- and right now, the doctors are considering taking him off all the machines. That means they’re going to take him off everything that’s keeping him alive- and the mere thought of them unplugging him and watching him die…it makes me sick to my stomach. I threw up right after I heard about it- because I can’t watch it happen. Calum is a fighter.

 

My cast comes off really soon. Calum promised me he’d take me to get it off- he promised he’d be there when the saw comes out. He promised to hold my hand and let me be scared because I can be a mess in front of him and he would never judge me. But he’s obviously not taking me. Ashton said he would- and I have to man up and act like I don’t even care that someone is _sawing_ something off my arm, and could possibly cut me.

 

Call me a baby, a wimp, I really don’t fucking care at this point. I just need Calum back. If you were in my position, you’d be breaking down too. I can’t hold myself together- it’s too fucking hard. And I don’t want to burden Ashton or Michael with this shit- they have enough to deal with, and they don’t need my useless problems on top of that. Calum listened, and he made sure to promise I wasn’t burdening him, and the sincerity of his words is the only reason I’ve told him everything. He listens and gives good advice, and I fucking need that.

 

“Luke? You ready to go?”

 

Ashton’s voice brings me back to reality, and I nod slightly, looking up at him. He holds out a hand, and I grab it- letting him pull me to my feet.

 

“You okay, Lukey?” Ashton asks softly. “You seem really out of it…”

 

“I’m fine, Ash,” I lie softly. “I just miss Cal…”

 

“Oh, Luke…” Ashton sighs heavily, pulling me into his arms and kissing the top of my head. “He’s going to be fine. His body is just taking time to heal- and once it does, he’ll wake up. He’ll be okay. I promise.”

 

…

 

It’s easy to see that Luke has no idea what to do without Calum. His eyes are full of fear, as the doctor continues sawing the cast off his arm. He looks uncomfortable, but I can also see pain in his sapphire eyes- pain that darkens his entire gaze. He looks so miserable- and I hate that the only way to fix him- is to bring Calum back. I can’t do that- I can do anything else, but I can’t make Calum wake up. He has to do that on his own, and something tells me that if it doesn’t happen soon- Luke is going to do something drastic.

 

“Alright Luke, you’re free to go,” Doctor Grey says, putting the saw down. “Your arm will be pretty weak for a while- I’d advise you use the sling for a bit more, but you should regain full strength soon.”

 

Luke nods, wincing. “Kinda aches…”

 

“Yeah, that’s common,” Doctor Grey replies. “It was really swollen, and it did swell under your cast. Put ice on it for at least twenty minutes, twice a day- the swelling should come down, and the pain will go away.” She helps Luke off the table, and smiles at him. “Good luck, Luke. And I hope- for your sake- that I never have to see you again.”

 

“Thanks, Doctor Grey,” Luke says softly, as she walks out of the room. He grabs his sling and slips it on, before glancing up at me.

 

“You ready?” I ask softly. He nods again, and I wrap an arm around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head.

 

…

 

After I told Ashton the truth, he walked off. He really didn’t have anything to say after that, which I do understand. I mean, if your best friend told you that they had to choose between cutting or jumping off a bridge…I don’t even know…I keep dropping these bombs on Ashton, and I’m not sure how well he’s handling them. He’s broken too- and the attention has shifted to me, lately, unintentionally.

 

I just hate how fucked up everything is. Calum is in a coma- a coma he may or may not wake up from- Ashton is depressed and pretty suicidal- I’m trying not to kill myself as the minutes tick by- and Luke…I don’t even know about him. He hasn’t been himself for the past few weeks- I know that much. He’s been hiding in shadow- not really talking unless spoken to, and I feel like I have reason to worry about him as well.

 

Luke has been pushed to the side- especially since everyone’s been all over me and Ashton, and now that Calum’s in a coma, he’ll become the center of attention. Luke is being ignored and neglected- not intentionally, but it’s still happening, and god, I feel so shitty about it. I really wish he would get the attention he deserves- but he’s quiet by nature, and I honestly don’t want to pry too much into his thoughts- I don’t want him to get angry.

 

I don’t know when we all started to get this bad- I think Ashton’s suicide attempt was the catalyst, and I really wish we could pull ourselves together. His suicide attempt _damaged_ me, and I don’t know why it hurt me so much- but it fucking did, and I think that it not only broke _me_ , but also Luke and maybe even Cal. Seeing one of our brothers try and _kill himself_ , because of the hate and pressure…that just made everything more real for us. We’re _human_ , and we all have breaking points. Ashton just…reached his, I guess.

 

I don’t know how much longer it’ll be until _all_ of us reach our breaking points, or hit rock bottom- like he did. Calum is in a coma he probably won’t wake up from- and if he _does_ die, something tells me that Luke will never be the same. _None_ of us will ever be the same. The band will probably break up, and we’ll just be left to destroy ourselves singlehandedly- not that we’re not doing a wonderful job of that right now. I didn’t need fame to fuck me up- I’ve already done a pretty fucking wonderful job of that without the fame.

 

Being in a band and being able to sing to people and make them happy with our music…that was always my dream, growing up. And now that I’ve achieved it…I realize that everything comes with sacrifice. Nothing is ever completely free, no strings attached. The price of fame is high- and even though I _am_ living my dream…the price is getting to be way too fucking high. I’ve considered dropping out of the band, or just _leaving_. Disappearing one day, never to be seen again. The latter appeals to me more. I want to be gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story is going to come to a close soon. Maybe five chapters left? I'm not exactly sure, but it is ending soon. After this wraps up, I'm going to focus on finishing up Unwell, before school starts for me- in three weeks. After that, I have two new story ideas that I'm going to start working on. 
> 
> The first one is an AU story that follows Rejects- Ashton, Michael, Calum, and Luke are rejects in school, bullied, hated on, etc, and the story unfolds their pasts and how broken they are- how they meet and the road they travel to fix each other. I'm still not sure what ships I'm doing, so I'm leaving that up to you guys- Lashton and Malum, Muke and Cashton, or Mashton and Cake? 
> 
> The other one is a sequel to The Only Reason. It shows Ashton's recovery- along with the true horror that he was put through in captivity. Along with that- it also goes deeper into what Luke, Michael, and Calum went through while he was gone. The story also focuses on their recovery and their relaunch, as a band. It's OT4 centric, bromance of all pairings.
> 
> My question to you guys- is what would you like to see first? I'm writing both, that's for sure, but I can only write two stories at once- especially after school starts. So, please comment below- which one would you like me to start working on? It'll be posted right after Broken wraps up, so there's that. Thanks for reading- I know this author's note was long. The support is what keeps me writing for you guys- and I'm truly grateful.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I know I already posted this and then took it down, but I felt it was much too short, and I decided to add an extra scene. Sorry about the confusion.

Another two weeks pass, miserable and agony-filled. Cal is still showing no signs of getting better- or waking up, for that matter, and Luke is slowly ripping himself apart. The youngest of our band is pale, gaunt-looking and perpetually exhausted. He doesn’t have the cast on his arm anymore, but it’s still swelling up- so he wears the sling, and that just makes him look even more pitiful. There’s no telling what’ll happen to him if Calum dies. He already looks like one of the walking dead.

 

I think all of us feel dead inside- I know for a fact that I do. Michael doesn’t talk to _anyone_ , anymore. He shuts himself inside our room- and I can hear him crying a lot. When I try and ask him about it, he clams up, giving me one word answers that don’t satisfy me in the slightest. However- now’s not the time to be fighting with him. We all need each other, and severing our friendship even more will put unnecessary strain on Luke- pressure and stress that he really doesn’t need right now.

 

I’m trying my best to hold our little family together- we’re brothers, but we don’t act like it. Half the time, you wouldn’t even know Luke is in the room- judging by how silent he’s become. Michael doesn’t come out of his room very often, and I’m left hanging, trying to hold us together and failing miserably. And that’s taken its toll on me. I _wish_ I could do something to fix us, but the only way things will start going back to normal is if Calum wakes up and comes back to us.

 

As for the fans, they’re devastated. The band is on hold- at this point- we can’t continue without Calum, and it makes all three of us physically ill to even _think_ about replacing him. The fans are just as destroyed as we are- #PrayForCalum and #StayStrongCalum have been trending on Twitter for the past couple of weeks. They’ve supported us through and through- and honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful- negativity from the 5sosfam is something we _definitely_ don’t need right now.

 

It almost feels empty, without the last part of our quartet. It feels so empty- because Calum is the funny one. He’s my partner in crime, you could say. Michael and Luke tend to be quiet- especially during twitcams- but Calum and I are loud and outgoing. It’s hard to keep the optimistic attitude when I see his body lying motionless on that hospital bed. I’m trying to be optimistic, because I know that’s what he’d want me to be- but it’s getting so hard. I’m trying my best to tweet support and love to the fans, but it’s getting so much harder to lie to them. I tweet that everything is going to be okay- that Calum is going to be fine- but I don’t believe it myself. Lying- especially to our girls- that’s fucking difficult.

 

I just wish things could do back to normal. I wish we had Cal back, that we all weren’t fighting with each other- I just wish we were all happy again. I don’t know when _exactly_ everything started to snowball- but I do know that my suicide attempt was the catalyst. No matter what happens, I’ll always blame this bout of depression on myself. My brothers are being put through utter _hell_ right now, and it’s all because I wasn’t strong enough.

 

…

 

“Mikey…don’t go into our room. Can you sit out here with us for a while? Please?” Ashton’s giving me the puppy-dog eyes, his lip beginning to stick out in a pout. Luke is sitting next to him, knees pulled to his chest, head resting on top of them. He looks like he’s trying to curl himself into the smallest ball possible, and it’s honestly saddening.

 

I nod slightly, not being able to resist Ashton’s pouting face. “Yeah.” Sighing, I walk over and curl beside him, and he immediately rests his head on my shoulder. I take this time to look him over, my eyes widening when I realize how tired and broken he looks. He’s so much paler than usual, and his eyes have lost the light Ashton Irwin has always possessed.

 

I feel my heart truly break for him. He has to worry about me, Luke, _and_ Cal. He’s trying to make sure Luke’s alright- and also managing to keep his eye on me. All the more reason to worry- his depression is getting worse- the long sleeves tell me that he’s cutting a lot more now. He’s a mess- and part of it is my fault. I’m not trying to be a subject of worry- but I know that he’ll always worry about me. His fatherly-nature is evident in his actions.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You look so awful, Ashton…I had no idea how bad we were getting…”

 

Ashton shakes his head. “Don’t you dare. Don’t apologize for feeling the way that you do. I know I look like shit. But that’s _not_ your fault, Mikey. I look like shit because I don’t eat much, I haven’t been sleeping properly, and I work myself beyond my limit. It has nothing to do with either of you. I worry because I _love_ you both.” His voice breaks on his next few words. “We might lose one, I am _not_ letting us lose a second.”

 

Luke seems to snap back to reality at that. “You think…you think Cal is gonna die…?”

 

“Shit,” Ashton mutters. “No, Lukey, of course not. But there’s always the chance, I’m just trying to prepare myself. Though I don’t think I could _ever_ be prepared for something like that.”

 

“He’s gonna live!” Luke protests, his eyes darkening. “You’re an asshole, he’s gonna fucking live! He wouldn’t die on us, stop staying that he will! You just want him to! You have Mikey, so you’re all fine and good! I have _no one_. Calum was the only reason I hadn’t broken earlier. He keeps me from having panic attacks left and fucking right! I can’t lose him. I can’t…”

 

Sobs bubble up his throat, as he chokes up, shoving his face into his knees and shaking. My heart shatters, and I reach for him- but Ashton is faster. He pulls Luke into his arms, onto his lap- and holds him tightly, dropping kisses to his blonde locks. “I’m sorry,” he says wearily, as he rocks him back and forth like a small child. “I’m so sorry for not being enough for you. I’m trying my best, but I can never be Calum. I’m so sorry, Lukey.”

 

…

 

Luke finally cried himself to sleep, and he’s breathing softly against my shoulder, head tilted to the side, mouth slightly open. I sigh, running a hand through his hair and leaning down to press my lips to his forehead. I’m so worried about him- he looks like he’s ready to drop dead.

 

“Is he sleeping?” Michael asks softly, as he sits down next to me and hands me a mug of hot chocolate.

 

“Yeah,” I reply, lifting the mug up to my lips and sipping. The warm liquid soothes my throat and elicits a warm feeling inside, making me smile. “Thanks for this, Mike.”

 

“No problem,” Michael mutters. “It’s the least I can do. You’re running yourself ragged, worrying about us, worrying about Cal, trying not to cut- you’re a mess, Ashton.”

 

I sigh. “That’s the price I have to pay for being the oldest. I take care of you three- that’s my job. And I’ve already failed once- I let Calum drive off when he was angry and he got into this fucking accident- I’m not failing again.”

 

Michael’s gaze hardens. “You had _no idea_ Calum was going to drive off, Ash. And he doesn’t need to ask you permission to go anywhere. It could’ve happened to anyone- a drunk driver slammed into him. It would’ve happened whether he was upset or not- you _can’t_ blame yourself for this.”

 

“Then why are _you_?” I shoot back. He falls silent, avoiding my eyes and staring into his mug.

 

“Because if I’d just forgiven him, none of this would’ve happened!” Michael bursts out, after a couple minutes silence.

 

“Mikey-”

 

The phone rings, cutting me off, and Michael grabs for it. He listens for a few moments, his face paling, making me worry. Who could that be? Is it more bad news? Is something wrong with Calum?

 

“Mikey?” I ask, after he hangs up.

 

“That was the hospital. Calum’s awake.”


	23. Chapter 23

“Oh my fucking god…” I whisper, as relief begins to fill my body. “He’s awake…”

 

Michael nods, a smile crossing his face. “We need to go- you okay to drive? It’s almost midnight…”

 

“I’m fine,” I say. “What about Luke…?”

 

“I have an idea,” Michael tells me, his eyes brightening. “Let him sleep. We’ll go to the hospital, and put him next to Cal. That way, when he wakes up, he’ll be in Cal’s arms- it’ll be the best surprise, and our way of saying we’re sorry for neglecting him.”

 

“That’s perfect.” I smile, looking down at Luke’s sleeping body. “But what if he wakes up?”

 

“Come on, carry him to the car, and we can lay him down in the back. He’ll be fine, and if he wakes up, we can just tell him we’re going to the store and didn’t want to leave him alone here.”

 

“Okay…” I rise to my feet, cradling Luke’s body against my chest. He stirs, and my eyes widen- but he just snuggles closer to my chest, sighing and falling back into sleep.

 

“He’s adorable,” Michael coos. “Like a baby kitten…”

 

“Don’t say that when he’s awake,” I joke, grinning. “He’ll kill you.”

 

…

 

“Calum Hood?”

 

The receptionist glances up at us with a smile. “I told you guys he’d wake up, didn’t I? Go ahead back, the doctors are done with tests for now. He’s fine, just tired- in no pain, because of the morphine. His memory is there- we’ve checked for brain damage and there is none, just a nasty concussion that’ll have him with migraines for a while.”

 

“Thank you,” I say softly, leading Ashton down the hall and straight to Calum’s room. The door is closed, and I turn around, facing him. “Should we just go in…?”

 

“Yeah,” Ashton replies. “It’s been over a month, I think he’s kept us waiting for long enough.” He shifts Luke in his arms and smiles, nodding to me. “Open it, Mikey.”

 

I do as he says, whirling around and creaking the door open. The noise makes me wince, sneaking a quick glance back at Ashton to see if it woke Luke. Ashton shakes his head and gives me a thumbs up, and I open the door the rest of the way, before stepping inside.

 

The sight that greets me makes my heart leap with happiness. Calum is sitting up in bed- most of the machines removed- the only things that are left are his IV pole and heart monitor. When we enter, he turns to us, brown eyes warm. I’ve missed his eyes- I’ve missed seeing him the way I’m seeing him now. He’s got most of his color back- he doesn’t look unhealthily pale anymore. The cast on his arm has been replaced with a black brace, but the cast on his leg remains. He still looks pretty banged up, but he’s smiling, and I’m so relieved to have him back.

 

I stride forward, reaching the end of the bed, and grab his uninjured hand in mine. “Cal…how are you feeling…?”

 

Calum swallows, his smile dropping. “M’sorry Mikey…I know I hurt you…I’m really sorry…”

 

“Oh my god, no!” I exclaim, shaking my head. “I’m not even mad about that anymore, don’t worry! You’re forgiven, I promise. I love you so much, and I’m so glad you’re okay. You were in a coma for over a month, Cal…”

 

“I know, the doctors told me,” Calum replies. “I’m sorry, I know that must’ve been hell for you guys…”

 

“Can I hug you, or would that hurt you…?” I look down at him nervously- wanting to desperately throw my arms around him- but the fear of hurting him is evident. I don’t want to cause him pain.

 

Calum grins and holds open his arms. “Come here, you idiot.” Nodding, I lean down and wrap my arms around him tightly, holding him close and relishing the feeling of having him in my arms again.

 

“I missed you, Cal…” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.

 

“Don’t cry,” Calum says softly. “Or you’ll make me cry. The past is over, I’m here now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

 

…

 

After Ashton and Calum have their tearful reunion- it was actually extremely emotional, Calum noticed exactly what I did- how haggard and broken Ashton looks, how desperate he seems, everything. He even pulled up Ashton’s sleeves and saw all the cuts- that wasn’t a pretty sight. Ashton’s really been hurting himself.

 

“Lukey?” Calum asks, looking up over Ashton, at me. I’m holding Luke, the boy still in a deep sleep.

 

“He cried himself to sleep earlier, Cal…he’s really a mess. He needs you so badly…he was talking about panic attacks and shit…it’s bad…” I explain, my heart wrenching as I speak.

 

Calum sighs. “Oh, god…I knew it’d be bad…not this bad, though…”

 

“We were thinking…well, it was Mikey’s idea,” Ashton says. “He’s still sleeping, we want to lay him with you and have him wake up in your arms. It’ll be a nice surprise…he’s really been missing and needing you…”

 

Calum nods immediately. “Definitely, bring him here. I miss holding my Lukey…”

 

I smile, standing up and shifting Luke slightly, before walking over to Calum’s bedside. The younger boy scoots over in bed, leaving room for Luke, and I place him down in the space. Calum pulls him into his arms, kissing Luke’s head gently, and turns back to us, a small smile crossing his face.

 

“I love you guys,” he says softly. “I know that what happened really hurt you…but I’m okay now. And I’m gonna help you all recover.”

 

…

 

When I wake, it’s in someone’s arms, but they don’t seem as strong as Ashton’s…I fell asleep in his embrace, didn’t I? Is Mikey the one holding me?

 

Blinking, I let my eyes adjust to the light. When I realize where I am, my eyes widen. Calum’s hospital room? What the hell are we doing here?

 

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

 

I know that voice. That’s not Michael, or Ashton. That voice belongs to…

 

I turn my head to the side and my jaw drops open. Calum. He’s awake? He’s holding me right now? Am I dreaming? What the fuck is going on?

 

“Cal? Am I dreaming…?”

 

Calum laughs. “No, Lukey, this is really happening. I woke up a couple hours ago, Mikey and Ash brought you here, and they wanted you to wake up like this. I forced them to go get something to eat, it’s almost two in the morning, and neither of them have slept all night.”

 

“Oh my fucking god, Cal…” I whisper, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I clutch onto him tightly, wincing at the pain in my sore arm. “I missed you so much…”

 

“I love you, Lukey,” Calum says gently, kissing my head. “I see you got your cast off…I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for that…”

 

“It’s…” I can’t say it’s okay, because it really _isn’t_ …I wanted him there, and I remember crying for hours because he wasn’t…

 

“It’s not okay, baby,” Calum finishes. “I promised you something, and I broke it. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

 

“Cal…”

 

“Shhh,” he murmurs, reaching up to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll make me cry…”

 

“I needed you…so many times…I need help, Cal…m’not…m’not okay…”

 

Calum sighs. “I know, Lukey. Mike and Ash told me. It’s gonna be alright, I’m here now, and I’m never leaving you again.”

 

“Do you promise?”

 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm estimating about two chapters left, so we're wrapping up soon. I'd love to know what you guys thought- and I'm working on the new story, it'll be posted after this is finished. Thanks for reading- I hope you enjoyed.


	24. Chapter 24

“I don’t want anything.”

 

I raise an eyebrow at Michael, who just slumps into a seat at one of the tables in the cafeteria, head in his hands. Calum practically kicked us out to get something to eat- neither of us have slept, and he had the right idea. We need some kind of energy before we pass out. Michael just doesn’t want anything.

 

“Mikey, you’ll pass out if you don’t eat something.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Michael mutters.

 

I grumble to myself, standing up. “I’m getting you food, and you’re gonna fucking eat, if it’s the last thing you do.”

 

I walk over to the line and grab a tray, placing a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it. Then I grab two cokes and pay for the food, before turning and carrying it back over to where Michael is sitting. When I put the tray on the table, he squirms away- almost like he’s _scared_ of eating.

 

“Mikey, please. I got you PB&J, it’s small and light and it’ll be enough.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Michael repeats stubbornly, crossing his arms and staring down at his phone. “You eat, and then we can go back to Cal.”

 

“Mikey…”

 

“Fucking drop it, Ashton,” Michael growls, lifting his head up to glare at me. “I’m in no mood to argue with you.”

 

…

 

Calum made Ashton and I go back home, shower, rest for a bit and shit. He claimed that we both looked awful, and that we needed rest- he said he’d take care of Luke, so off we went. I was secretly glad about it, honestly- while Ashton slept, I went down to the gym and ran on the treadmill for over an hour.

 

Wincing, I step off and wipe my face, breathing heavily. My chest hurts like fuck, my legs are shaking, and I feel like I could just drop dead right about now. I feel like fucking shit, and I’m starting to wonder why the hell I’m not getting better at this whole exercising thing. I’ve been doing it for a while- and every time I finish- I feel worse than I did the previous time.

 

It hurts, and I fucking hate it.

 

“Michael, _please_ don’t tell me you did what I think you did.”

 

Ashton’s voice booms and echoes off the walls, as I hear his footsteps thunder down the stairs. In a matter of moments, he’s standing in front of me and staring at my pitiful appearance.

 

I hike up the volume on my phone, not wanting to hear him scream at me. I’m really just in the mood to flop down on my bed, and like, _die_. Everything hurts and I’m exhausted and god, fuck life. It’s my fault for letting myself get this fat- I have to pay the price and lose all this weight.

 

“Mikey…” Ashton murmurs, pulling me into a hug. “What’s going on with you, baby? Why are you hurting yourself like this?”

 

“Ash, I…”

 

“It’s okay, don’t speak,’ Ashton chides gently. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this- I still don’t understand why you’re purposefully pushing your body beyond its limit, but it’s going to change. I’m not going to let you do this to yourself for much longer.”

 

…

 

When Ashton and Michael reenter my hospital room, my eyes widen. Michael’s face is flushed, his cheeks pink from what looks like overexertion. Ashton has a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he’s basically leading Michael inside, most of the younger’s weight on him. Finally, Ashton leads Michael to a chair and helps him down, before sitting next to him and allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder.

 

“I think we should talk…” I say softly, pulling Luke closer to me and letting him rest his head on my chest. “There are some things we need to talk about.”

 

Ashton nods in agreement. “Yeah, definitely. Wanna start, Cal?”

 

I shoot him a small smile in thanks, before surveying the room and starting to speak. “You three look fucking awful. That’s blunt, I’m sorry, but you all look exhausted. Luke, you look like you could drop dead at any moment now- Ash, you look way too stressed and just…tired…- and Mikey…what’s going on with you? It looks like you’ve just run three miles.”

 

“He did,” Ashton mutters. “Five miles. I slept for an hour, and he ran on our treadmill for the entire time.”

 

“Michael, what the hell?” I ask. “Why are you running like crazy now? You look wrecked.”

 

“Because I fucking want to,” Michael growls. “Get off my fucking back, will you?”

 

“No,” Ashton says firmly. “I wanna know why you’re exercising like crazy, and why you don’t _eat_ anymore.”

 

“Wait, _what_?!” I exclaim, staring at Michael. “You don’t eat?”

 

“He wouldn’t eat earlier, and he’s exercising like no damn tomorrow,” Luke pipes in. “Ash texted me.”

 

“Fuck you,” Michael scowls at all of us, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his head. “I’m doing this for you all.”

 

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

“I don’t want to be fat anymore,” Michael whispers, his voice cracking. “I don’t want you to leave because I’m fat and disgusting.”

 

…

 

“Is he sleeping?”

 

“Yeah, finally…”

 

I sigh heavily, as Michael snuggles closer to me subconsciously, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around him tightly, kissing his messy hair, before glancing up at Calum and Luke with tears in my eyes.

 

“He’s anorexic,” I whisper. “He’s lost so much weight…he’s so thin…”

 

“I know,” Calum replies softly. “I just don’t know how we didn’t see this earlier…”

 

“You couldn’t have, you’ve been in a coma for a month,” I mutter. “It’s my fault.”

 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Luke says sullenly. “It’s my fault too.”

 

“Guys…” Calum sighs. “It’s all our faults, but we need to stop this. We need to stop wallowing in each other’s pain, dying over how agonized we are- all that shit. We wanna get better, and what we’re doing now isn’t helping.”

 

“Mikey and I can’t stop cutting, he’s starving himself, Luke has panic attacks- what the fuck happened to us?” I whisper. “When did everything start to blow up?”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Calum replies. “We need to fix it. We’re not going to be like this forever- it’s awful and takes its toll on the entire band. Recovery should be the only thing on our minds at the moment.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do this…” I mumble. “It’s so fucking hard to be the strong one.”

 

“I know,” Calum says gently. “And I’m here now, you don’t have to be strong all the time. I’m gonna help you- we’re going to get through this. We’re gonna get past this, and go back to releasing music and doing twitcams and interacting with fans and being the idols our girls deserve. We’re going to get through this, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the epilogue- hopefully it'll be up tomorrow, at latest Wednesday. I'd love to know what you thought- hope you enjoyed.


	25. Chapter 25

The next two weeks to a month are actually pretty busy. Calum is finally released, under strict instructions and bed rest for a week. However- he’s made it his mission to help all of us recover, so his plans are put into action almost immediately- upon his return. He wants Mikey to stop starving himself, Luke to stop panicking, and me to stop cutting. Honestly, it’s easier said than done, but Calum is determined.

 

A lock has been placed on our basement door- with a passcode that only he, Luke, and I know. When this was first installed, Michael threw a fit- not being able to exercise enraged him. But eventually, he calmed down and realized that this is for his own good. He’s also being watched for an hour after he eats- just to make sure he doesn’t purge the meal up. We’re probably being too cautious, but we can’t lose him to an eating disorder- we can’t lose him to a distorted perspective in the mirror.

 

Luke is being smothered. Well actually, that’s more of an understatement that anything. The blond is extremely clingy, and Mikey, Cal and I have been holding him and cuddling him and just making him feel loved and needed, because that’s what he needs right now. If he knows he’s safe, he won’t panic and start freaking out. He just needs to feel like we need him and we love him- we’ve been neglecting and ignoring him- and that’s taken its toll on the poor thing.

 

As for me, all my blades have been flushed down the toilet- by me, in fact. Calum made me do it- he sat right next to me and comforted me as I threw them one by one into the murky water and flushed my tools of relief down the toilet- never to be seen again. In addition to that- all our razors have been replaced by electric razors- electric razors cannot be broken to get blades out, so that works for us.

 

I don’t know how these changes are going to work. It’s a lot to change- especially in a matter of a few days. Michael is used to exercising and starving himself- Luke is used to sitting in a corner and having no one pay attention to him- and I’m used to slitting my wrist when I feel sad or angry or upset. It’s really hard to quit cold turkey, and I just hope it works.

 

…

 

“Ash, come here!”

 

Wincing, I shift myself into a better position, as Ashton comes running into the room. His eyes widen he sees me, and I sigh, smiling sheepishly.

 

“What the hell happened, Cal?”

 

“Fell off the bed,” I grunt. “My ribs really hurt…ugh…”

 

Ashton nods, lifting me into his arms and placing me back down on the mattress. He grins and kisses my forehead, before curling up next to me. “I love you.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” I say flatly.

 

“I love you,” Ashton repeats, nuzzling against my stomach.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I fucking hate you.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Ashton breaks me eventually, getting me to collapse in a fit of giggles and hug him. “Thanks for that, Ash.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Ashton replies immediately. “I love seeing you guys laugh- it makes me really happy.”

 

I smile at the change that’s taken place in Ashton over the past couple of weeks. He definitely seems happier- and more open. He’s told us about his feelings- how he doesn’t want to tell us his problems because he feels like he’s a burden. Believe me, he received a harsh talking to and lots of hugs after that. We finally cracked him and managed to open him up, and I’m happy about that.

 

“Hey, can we join for a band cuddle?”

 

I look up into the doorway, and my smile widens. Michael is standing there- carrying Luke on his back, the younger’s head resting on his shoulder. Both of them are smiling- Luke is giggling, and I nod immediately, inviting them in.

 

“Be careful with him,” Ashton warns. “He fell off the bed earlier.”

 

Michael stops in his tracks, staring at me. “He _what_?!”

 

“Calm your tits, I’m fine,” I say easily, waving a hand. “Ashton’s overprotective.”

 

“My nonexistent tits _are_ calmed!” Michael shouts, making Luke laugh, as he stops at the beside, turning around so Luke can slip off his back. He instantly scoots over to me, curling into my other side, while Michael curls next to Ashton, resting his head on his neck.

 

Within moments we’re all laughing, teasing each other and pretending to be offended at each others’ jeers. It’s fun- I haven’t laughed this hard in forever. I look around the room, and grin at Michael, Luke, and Ashton’s giggling faces.

 

Things might not be perfect, but I know one thing for sure.

 

We’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at writing pure fluff- how'd I do, guys? I hope you liked it- I hope it was a good ending to the story. I can't thank you all enough for the support I've received- it's truly amazing- all the sweet comments about my writing have made writing this so much more enjoyable and I seriously can't thank you guys enough. You're all amazing, and I really hope you took something away from this- my intention was to show you how serious self-harm is, and how a suicide attempt can do wonders not only to the victim- but also to his/her loved ones. So once again, thank you, you all are fucking amazing.
> 
> Now, onto another topic. The new story. As of right now, this is what it's looking like. http://www.ezimba.com/work/140820C/ezimba16220669024900.png (Copy and paste the link, the site won't let me link it). Right now, the sequel to The Only Reason is leading by far- which I assumed before I even posted the vote. As for the relationships in Rejects- that story will be posted when Unwell is finished- but right now, I'd like to know something. There are a lot of Lashton and Malum fics on this website- more Lashton than anything. Cashton/Muke is in second place- so guys, would you prefer that? I /am/ going with majority rules, so right now, it's looking like Lashton and Malum. However, I'm still taking opinions, so please, if you'd like to change your vote, or you haven't voted- your thoughts would be appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you all, again. It's been an amazing journey- I'm glad to have written this story- and I hope you will enjoy what I have planned just as much.


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